#thesis work commitments willing of course...

Almost a year since anything in the main chat, but...

☎︎℡                                         ..𝑻im Drake & fem!reader

                        :: “𝖫𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗉𝗅𝖾’𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖾’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋."

         ଓ ؛ crackfic, as said reader and tim don't know eachother. not proofread.

Your first thought when you decided to download that dating app was:

“Why not use it just to get a few laughs?”

That was the idea — laugh a little, collect ridiculous stories, and maybe feed your ego just a tiny bit.

You filled in the basics, chose your best photos — the ones where you looked casually uninterested but still absurdly photogenic — and finally got to the most fun part: the bio.

“Looking for someone willing to join me in couple’s therapy and pretend we’re together until the therapist figures out we don’t actually know each other.”

You laughed to yourself.

It was just an inside joke with the universe.

No one in their right mind would ever agree to that.

Until a notification made your heart jump.

  Tim Drake, 20:

“Hey.

Laughed a lot at your bio.

But I have to ask: would you pay, or are we splitting the bill?”

  You almost spilled your coffee.

No way someone was actually crazy enough to go along with it.

  You:

“Depends! How committed would you be to pulling this off?

Would you be down to argue like a couple in crisis during the session, or just pretend we have ‘communication issues’?”

  Tim Drake:

“I’d give it my best shot.

And honestly, it’d be fun to see the therapist’s reaction.

I’m a decent actor (I think?)”

  You laughed out loud.

Not the polite kind — a real laugh, half disbelieving, half delighted.

Maybe it was worth seeing how far he’d go with this.

  You:

“Well, in that case, I guess we can split the bill.”

  Tim Drake:

“Perfect.

But send me a detailed script. I don’t want to break character.”

  You:

“Of course. We need to decide the origin of our couple’s trauma.

Maybe you work too much and I feel lonely?

Or maybe I have multiple personalities and you never know which one you’re talking to? Kind of like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, chaotic edition.”

  Tim Drake:

“A cultured woman, I see.

I like the multiple personalities idea. That way you can switch characters mid-session.”

  You:

“You get the spirit of it.

I’ll think of a script and let you know. I need to get back to work now.”

  Tim Drake:

“👍 See you later.”

  You stared at the screen for a few seconds, feeling that particular kind of curiosity that comes when something improbable starts to feel promising.

He had a different kind of energy — sarcastic, but with perfect timing.

And deep down, you knew this story was going to go somewhere.

  The phone rang on a Tuesday night.

You looked at the name flashing on the screen — Tim Drake — and answered without thinking twice.

“I thought you were joking,” was the first thing he said.

His voice had that calm, controlled tone, laced with a hint of irony. “But you actually want to write a script for fake couple’s therapy.”

“Of course I do. You think I’d waste a chance like this?” you laughed. “This is art, Tim. Pure cinema.”

“Low-budget cinema, maybe,” he said, amused. “Okay, but before we start, I need to understand the structure.”

“Structure?” you raised an eyebrow. “We’re lying to a therapist, not presenting a thesis.”

“Exactly. And every good lie needs consistency.” He spoke with the calm of someone who’d thought about this too much. “So: how did we meet? How long have we been together? And what’s the main issue?”

You sighed, pretending to sound serious. “Alright, detective. Let’s say we met… in an urban gardening class.”

“I can’t even keep a cactus alive.”

“Even better! The therapist will sense the tension. I’ll talk about flowers while you only think about microchips.”

He laughed softly — that kind of laugh that slips out against your will. “Okay, so I’m the guy obsessed with work.”

“And I’m the neglected girlfriend trying to save the relationship with alternative therapies and Taylor Swift playlists.”

“What’s worse,” he muttered, “the emotional drama or Taylor Swift?”

“Careful with what you say, Tim Drake,” you warned theatrically. “I could make my character a vengeful singer just to prove a point.”

“That would be… unexpectedly effective, I admit.”

“Thank you! I strive to be chaotically efficient.”

He went quiet for a moment, not an awkward silence, but a curious one.

You could hear the faint clicking of the keyboard on the other end.

“Are you… taking notes?” you asked, laughing.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “Scripts need records. I’m creating a document called ‘Relationship Simulation – Version 1.0.’”

“Oh my God, you really are a nerd, aren’t you?”

“I prefer the term ‘organized,’” he said, almost defensively. “And that’s how we’ll convince the therapist. Details, consistency, and calculated improvisation.”

“Alright, Mr. Detail-Oriented. And if she asks about our first date?”

“We could say it was at a café. You were fifteen minutes late.”

“Fifteen? Make it thirty. I need to stay consistent with my own disorganization.”

He laughed again. “Fair enough. Thirty. And you ordered something ridiculously specific, like an oat milk caramel cappuccino with three ice cubes.”

“I already like you more than I should,” you said lightly, half-teasing.

He hesitated for a second. “Is that going in the script too?”

“Maybe. Or maybe just in the behind-the-scenes.”

There was a curious silence on the other end — one that seemed full of unspoken smiles.

“Okay,” he said finally. “So it’s official.”

“Perfect,” you replied. “And Tim?”

“Hm?”

“You’re going to regret giving me creative freedom.”

He let out a quiet, amused sigh. “I’m already writing that down too.”

The call ended with a slightly shy “good night,” but the smile that stayed on your face lasted the rest of the day.

  The wall clock ticked with merciless precision.

You and Tim sat side by side on the couch — uncomfortable, trying to look comfortable.

The therapist, a woman in her early forties with thin glasses and the calm, clinical look of someone who had seen everything, flipped through a file with a pen in hand.

“So…” she began, her voice soft. “What brings you two here today?”

You and Tim exchanged a glance.

One millisecond of shared panic.

The plan was to improvise. And theoretically, you were both good at that.

You took a deep breath and started.

“He never stops. Like, ever. Even when we’re together, it’s like he’s in another dimension.”

Tim raised an eyebrow.

“I work. Sorry if paying bills is suddenly a federal crime.”

“Work, Tim?” you turned to him, theatrically. “Last night you texted me at three in the morning saying you were ‘testing a satellite tracking algorithm.’ That’s not work, that’s insanity.”

“It was important.” He crossed his arms and looked at the therapist. “She exaggerates. She’s always dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” you gasped in mock offense. “Calling out emotional neglect is ‘being dramatic’ now?”

Dr. Lúcia nodded with a thoughtful “hm,” like she’d already identified the issue.

Tim looked slightly concerned about how convincing this was getting.

“And how long have you two been together?” she asked.

“Two years,” you said.

“One year and eight months,” he said at the same time.

You looked at each other.

“Depends on the point of view,” you said quickly, smiling. “He only counts from the day he officially asked me out.”

“Because before that, she was still seeing other people,” Tim replied coolly.

The therapist frowned.

“Oh, so it wasn’t exactly a… traditional start?”

“We’re modern,” you said, trying to sound natural. “Gen Z, you know? We thrive on chaos and passive-aggressive communication.”

Tim shot you a look that said, this is getting dangerous.

But you managed to stifle your laughter.

“And do you argue often?” asked the therapist.

Tim took a deep breath, acting perfectly.

“I’d say no. We just have… different rhythms.”

“That’s his code for ‘she never stops talking and I just want silence,’” you said.

“And that’s her code for ‘I can’t go five minutes without being the center of attention,’” he countered.

The therapist wrote something down slowly, pensively.

You and Tim exchanged another look — this time, you almost laughed.

“What do you feel for each other right now?” the therapist asked, glancing between you both.

You blinked, surprised.

Tim hesitated, and for a brief moment, it felt like the script was slipping through your fingers.

“I…” you began, improvising. “I still love him, but sometimes it feels like he loves his ideas more than he loves me.”

Tim stayed silent.

The therapist raised her eyebrows, waiting.

“She’s the most… unpredictable person I know,” he said quietly, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m in love or in danger.”

You tried to laugh, but his line came out so sincere that your laughter turned into something else entirely.

A curious silence settled in the room.

The therapist seemed moved.

“That…” she began softly. “Sounds like young love trying to find its balance.”

You glanced at Tim.

A quick, complicit look.

And for a second, it almost felt like she was right.

“Then I guess we’re on the right path,” you said, smiling.

“Yeah,” Tim replied softly. “One step at a time.”

Dr. Lúcia smiled, jotting something down.

“We’ll keep working on that in our next sessions.”

You both nodded politely.

You walked out of the office with neutral expressions…

but the second you crossed the door, you burst out laughing.

“‘Young love trying to find its balance’?” you said, laughing hard. “We should get an Oscar.”

“I almost believed myself,” Tim admitted between laughs. “That’s concerning.”

You looked at him, still smiling. “Relax, detective. We’re just getting started.”

And for the first time that night, he actually seemed to believe it.

  You saw him first.

Leaning against the car, arms crossed, wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up in that careless but somehow deliberate way.

Tim Drake was looking at his phone, too focused to notice the world around him.

Or maybe just pretending not to notice — which, coming from him, seemed more likely.

“You show up early even to fake a relationship?” you teased, approaching with a grin.

He looked up, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile.

“I prefer to call it professionalism.”

“Professionalism? Tim, we’re about to lie to a therapist, not solve one of GCPD’s cases.”

“Old habits,” he shrugged. “Did you bring the coffee?”

“I did. But I drank half of it on the way.” You handed him the cup. “Consider it the first sign of dissatisfaction in our relationship.”

He took the cup, trying to hide his smile.

But when you caught that small, genuine grin breaking through, you couldn’t help laughing too.

It was the kind of laughter that’s hard to explain — quiet, shared, as if you both got the same inside joke the rest of the world would never understand.

The kind born from connection, not comedy.

“Okay,” you said, still laughing. “Ready for another Emmy-worthy performance?”

“I was born ready,” he said dryly, opening the door for you. “Let the show begin.”

Dr. Lúcia seemed more enthusiastic this time.

She flipped through her notes with the smile of someone who believed she was about to change lives.

“Today, I’d like to try some emotional reconnection exercises,” she said softly.

You and Tim exchanged a quick look — the kind that said, this is going to go terribly, but whatever.

“First,” the therapist continued, “I want you to look into each other’s eyes for one full minute.

No talking. Just… observe.”

You took a deep breath and turned to him.

Tim turned too.

And for a moment, both of you seemed to lose the script.

You tried to hold it in, but then started laughing — first quietly, then too loudly.

“Sorry,” you said between giggles. “You’re looking at me like I just confessed to a crime.”

“I’m trying not to blink,” he said, dead serious. “Do you have any idea how hard that is?”

“This is therapy, Tim. Not an interrogation.”

Dr. Lúcia cleared her throat. “Try to breathe together. Synchronize your breathing.”

You tried.

For three seconds, it worked.

Then you inhaled too deeply, he started laughing, and the whole minute dissolved into a symphony of muffled laughter and failed attempts at composure.

“Okay, okay,” the therapist sighed, but she was smiling. “Maybe the next exercise will work better. I want you to write a letter to each other.

Something you’ve always wanted to say, but never have.”

Tim looked at you with a smirk. “This should be good.”

“I’m ready to hurt some feelings,” you replied, picking up the paper.

You both fell silent, writing.

And when you exchanged letters, the air shifted — light, but charged with something you couldn’t name.

You read his first:

“Sometimes I think you talk too much just to see how the world reacts.

And the world always reacts.

Even me.”

You stopped.

Looked up at him.

But he was already pretending to focus on reading yours.

Your letter said:

“You live in constant risk analysis mode, even when it comes to feeling.

But it’s funny — every time you try to control the chaos,

it’s the chaos that makes you look human.”

Tim looked up slowly.

“That was…” he started, then paused. “…more poetic than I expected.”

“It’s the charm of having multiple personalities,” you said, laughing softly.

Dr. Lúcia smiled, satisfied, convinced the exercise had worked.

But you both knew it wasn’t exactly acting anymore.

Because somewhere between the laughter and the lines, something was starting to slip out of control.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to stop it.

And that’s how it went: from planned sessions, controlled chaos, and extreme improvisation, you reached a point where you didn’t even have to pretend anymore.

You still joked, laughed, and improvised, but inside that room, everything came naturally — when Tim looked at you, your breathing changed without effort; when you cracked a joke, he responded with that quiet, genuine smile.

The therapist barely needed to guide anything — you were already connected in a way that felt real.

The “fake couple” became routine — automatic, natural — laughing together, arguing playfully, understanding each other in gestures and glances.

The roles no longer existed; all that was left was the two of you.

You walked in the same way you always did — talking about nothing in particular, teasing each other about who would get to the session first.

“I bet you’ll trip on the doorstep,” you said, laughing.

“Only if you push me,” Tim replied, dead serious — though the corner of his mouth betrayed a faint smile.

Dr. Lúcia greeted you with that sharp, knowing look that seemed to see right through any mask.

“Good morning, ‘lovebirds.’”

You both laughed nervously.

“Good morning, Dr. Lúcia,” you said, flashing an exaggerated smile.

“Morning,” Tim added, cold and composed, still clinging to the “experiment partner” façade.

She tapped her pen lightly against the desk.

“Today, we’re doing something different. A vulnerability exercise.”

“What kind of vulnerability?” you asked, trying to sound casual but already feeling your pulse quicken.

“The kind that reveals what you really feel about each other.”

You exchanged glances.

“Like… confessing feelings?” Tim asked, cautious.

“Exactly. But without using words like ‘like,’ ‘love,’ or anything of the sort,” said Dr. Lúcia, smiling mischievously. “I want you to show it through actions.”

She placed two cards on the table — one for each of you.

“Write down one thing you’d do for the other without hesitation. Something that isn’t just an act.”

You both picked up your cards, eyes down, trying to look composed.

“That’s easy,” you said, starting to write. “Easy to sound convincing.”

“Easy doesn’t mean true,” she shot back, her tone carrying that clinical authority that made both of you swallow hard.

When you exchanged cards, the joke started to turn into something real.

He reads first:

“I’d save anything you were trying to fix… even if it was ridiculous or impossible.”

You blushed slightly, avoiding his gaze, but then you read his:

“I’d try to understand every word you say… even when you talk too fast or make a thousand jokes at once.”

“Okay, this is getting suspiciously sincere,” you muttered, unable to hide your smile.

Dr. Lúcia raised an eyebrow.

“Interesting. You improvise so well you could fool anyone… but I can tell when you’re really thinking about each other.”

You both swallowed again.

“Almost fooled,” Tim murmured.

She continued mercilessly, “Next exercise: describe a moment when you wanted to do something for the other but said nothing. Then read it out loud — looking into each other’s eyes.”

You took a deep breath and looked at Tim.

“Yesterday, you dropped your jacket on the sidewalk, and I… I picked it up and left it in your car so you wouldn’t get cold later,” you said, looking away.

Tim flushed red.

“I… I tried to remember to grab your favorite drink for breakfast, but I got distracted by that report I had to finish,” he said, unaware of how utterly honest he sounded.

Dr. Lúcia smiled, triumphant.

“See how hard it is to fake it when you actually care?”

You looked at each other.

The air shifted. Nervous laughter filled the silence, but every word now carried a weight that no script could replicate.

“This…” you started, trying to change the subject. “This is getting way too serious.”

“I know,” Tim said quietly, but firmly, not breaking eye contact.

And for a second, you both realized: you weren’t improvising for the therapist anymore.

You were, without meaning to, admitting to each other that you cared.

And that, of course, was scarier — and more thrilling — than any argument or joke you’d ever staged.

Smiling knowingly, Dr. Lúcia closed her notebook.

“Try this exercise at home too. But be careful, it’s easy to lose track of where the ‘act’ ends and reality begins.”

You left the office in silence for a few moments.

“She noticed,” you murmured with a half-laugh.

“She didn’t have to,” Tim replied, still looking at you. “We noticed too.”

And for the first time, smiling together wasn’t an act. It was just… the two of you.

  Morning sunlight poured into Tim’s apartment through the curtains, painting everything in warm tones.

You woke first, wrapped in a blanket, hair a complete mess, wearing his shirt that hung off your shoulders in the most disastrous — and endearing — way possible.

Tim was still in bed, halfway between sleep and that lazy curiosity of wanting to look at you without seeming like a creep.

When your eyes met, he let out a low laugh — the kind that starts shy and ends uncontrollable.

“You look…” he began, trying to find the words. “You look like… I don’t know, like the universe finally got something right.”

You blinked, smiling as you turned to face him.

“What? Like I look good with messy hair and someone else’s shirt?”

“It’s not just that.” He sat up, still watching you with that dazed smile. “It’s you. It’s you laughing like that, all messy, improvising even in real life, and… I can’t pretend I don’t like it.”

You laughed even louder, covering your mouth with your hands.

“So… are you admitting that I’m the problem in this relationship?”

“The problem and the solution,” he said without thinking, and you both burst out laughing. The laughter was easy, natural, unscripted.

A short silence followed — but it was full of quiet understanding.

“You know what that means?” you asked, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

“What?” he said, curious.

“That we don’t need that couples therapy anymore,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “The lie we kept up… became real.”

Tim nodded slowly, as if processing it.

“Yeah. We’re not pretending anymore.” He moved closer and took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours naturally. “If someone came here and said, ‘They’re just good actors,’ we wouldn’t even have to argue. Because we’re real.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Real and messy.”

“Mostly messy,” he chuckled, squeezing your hand. “But somehow… perfect for me.”

You stayed like that — laughing softly, exchanging glances, feeling everything: the sunlight’s warmth, the smell of the coffee he hadn’t made yet, the touch of his hand in yours.

And in that moment, the story that began as an act, as a lie, finally turned into something no script could ever create.

“So…” you murmured, still resting your head on him. “Do we keep going without a script?”

“Without a script,” he said, firm yet gentle. "Just us."

And like that — through laughter, glances, and intertwined fingers — the lie melted away.

What remained was reality: the two of you, together, chaotic, funny, and completely sure that you were finally exactly where you were meant to be.

૮^ྀིᱹ ᱹ♡১:: guys this is lit so unserious and a SHIT 😭 inspired by this tweet! 

🏷️:: @sugacor3, @jaytoddsgirl, @thetruecardinalsinner

Of course some drivers like Lando still manage to go backwards in skill because I genuinely think he used to be much better at w2w when he was in a bad car and he decided to leave that behind apparently.

I feel like a lot of the current viewership has forgotten that the actual driver centric competetive aspect of racing is not just "go fast". Setting fastest laps when you have the fastest car CAN be impressive but not in the absence of any display of craft. If someone looked at Max's 2023 season just on paper, they might think oh how boring. If you watched him race the season you'd never be able to say that.

You know I find something so ironic is Lando, literally just this week said this - "Fans nowadays like the personalities and the drivers and are not simply fans of Formula 1 as a whole sport. There's less interest in basically how the actual race goes, and more just has the driver done well or not"

Girl is like either extremely self aware in a confusing way or extremely oblivious can't decide 🫠

Anyway the thesis of my essay is Arvid is the real future baby goat

Absolutely, yes to all this! I've been saying for ages that going straight to Merc was bad for Kimi's growth as a driver. Spending a year or two at a non-top 4 team learning to navigate traffic, manage dirty air, and overtake in the midfield is so key to a driver's F1 education. In my opinion, getting a ~fastest car 1.5 years into his F1 career was actually detrimental to the development of Oscar's w2w skills (and response to things like lock-ups in traffic, hello Brazil '25 crash). We're seeing a more extreme version of the situation with Kimi. Relying on your superior machine to compensate for driver error and power you through an overtake or strategic mistake hinders developing and refining actual skill.

As I said in the previous ask, I think Oscar is more willing to take risks but sometimes bails out or lacks commitment. But I definitely think lack of commitment applies to Lando in a variety of ways, as well. He wants to drive fast; he doesn't actually want to race hard or push outside of quali (again, driving fast, not going w2w or managing tires). I will never forget him saying he started using only 95% of the McL in 2025 rather than pushing. And it was apparent on track. You felt all the time that the car was making the difference, not the driver. That is what sets Max's '23 season apart. He was pushing the RB19 to the limit, and you knew the whole time that 95% of other drivers would not/could not extract the maximum from that car. The reason I don't enjoy guys like Lando, Carlos, and George (vs Charles and Max) is that they seem happy to play it safer and settle for second rather than push the limit in a race. Drive like you're starving for it, or don't waste my time.

Wednesday, January 28, 2026

We were off again today, but tomorrow, the ballet school I go to will be open again. As much as I love exploring and finding new virtual classes on YouTube, I do miss actually being in class with my dance friends and getting direct feedback and corrections. However, it also means that I lose free time since driving there during rush hour means we have to leave earlier than the time it would normally take us to get there. I've enjoyed the extra time in my day since commuting was taken out of the picture for a while.

In other news, I submitted my application for a two week summer internship (I'll find out if I'm accepted in a couple of months), and I'm very much considering applying to a pre-college class at the university I'm applying to early decision (most likely). My parents have already okayed it. I found a class that fits my schedule between summer trips and won't interfere with the internship if I get in. It's not directly related to the field I want to study, but there is a lot of crossover. Plus, with me being homeschooled, this will put me in a classroom environment with other students at the university that my heart is set on, and in a college level course. I'll get a chance to live in a residence hall and check out the campus and the general area. I've been before, but I was very, very young at the time, so I'll be looking at it from a new perspective now.

One other thing of note, I think my mom found another professor on her campus that would be willing to be my senior thesis advisor for next year. I want to complete a research paper combining history, literature, and psychology, and I already know (mostly) that I want to focus on WWII propaganda: how it was used and how it relates to present-day psychological “warfare.” I’m really curious about behavior and why people respond to information the way they do. Looking at WWII, especially the influence of Nazi propaganda on ordinary people and how it pushed them to commit or accept atrocious acts, feels like a good place to start when thinking about how information today continues to shape beliefs and actions in ways that contradict how people once behaved.

I'm really, really hoping that this person will say yes because not only will she be able to help me access great resources and lead me in the right direction, as a tenured history professor, she would also be an amazing person to write a letter of recommendation for my university application. Obviously that would mean I'd have to start working on this sooner than later and wouldn't be anywhere close to finished by the time I would need to submit for early decision, BUT if I can work with her a bit over the summer during my breaks so she can get to know me and my work ethic, then she would be a fabulous recommender along with my Gold Award project advisor who is a social work professor at another nearby university.

I feel like all I can think about half the time right now is getting things prepared for my university application, and it's insane that I'll be submitting ED to my top choice school in less than 9 months! I have the SAT coming up, and I need to get extremely high marks on it. I need to make sure that this summer is fully catered, without overdoing it, for university studies. Did anyone else feel like this before they went into their last year of high school?🦄

Tasks Completed:

Precalculus - Watched video on asymptotes of rational functions + started learning about rational functions + practice questions

British Literature - Copied vocabulary + read chapter 6 of Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe + answered question on reading + brainstormed my personal narrative topic and decided on this title: "Who Tells the Story: A Personal Encounter with the Power of Words" which discusses an article I read a few years ago and how it has shaped many of my current interests involving history, language, and psychology (and yes, the title does come from Hamilton lyrics) + read examples of 3rd person omniscient and 3rd person limited in literature

Spanish 4 - Reviewed the informal imperative + conjugated unit verbs into positive and negative informal imperative

Bible 3 - Read Jeremiah 15-16:13

Comparative Government - Continued working on memorization of European countries (on the map) and capitals as well as major cities, bodies of water, and major rivers throughout Europe

Chemistry with Lab - Looked over new unit key terms + watched a lecture video about gas laws and atmospheric pressure

Biblical Hebrew 1 - Watched video on reading Genesis 3:2 + learned new vocabulary

Apologetics - Watched two videos with responses to two different claims on why God doesn't exist + answered questions regarding the videos along with the logical fallacies of the "arguments" of a non-existent God (circular reasoning primarily)

Duolingo - Completed one Spanish unit + completed six lessons in French + completed one lesson in Chinese

HSK Chinese - studied one hour

Piano - Practiced for two hours

Reading - Read/listened to Sonnets 33-62 of Shakespeare's Sonnets by William Shakespeare

Activities of the Day:

Group Bible Study (Genesis 46-47)

Bible Study (Isaiah 41:10)

Worked on revising booklet for Gold Award project based on feedback received and emailed to appropriate parties for final review

That said, most of her energy, and in this she joins a great many writers coming from the urban working class of color, seems to be spent not being conflated. Conflated with other black female writers, conflated with protestors, conflated with critics of the establishment. Oh, she does criticize, empathize, recognize herself. But always prefacing it with layers upon layers of self-justification and differentiation. She, like her icon & model David Foster Wallace, feels the need to set herself apart from anything we could categorize her as in bad faith.

So she is a feminist, but worry not, she still loves Updike, Larkin and Pound. She is a utopian socialist but she has nothing in particular to say about the state of the world. She of course has an opinion on the current conflict in Palestine, but she won't tell because it's not important and it's "just words".

Of course you can read Larkin and Pound as a committed leftist feminist and think your personal opinion on world politics is irrelevant compared to what is going on in the world. My gripe is that someone with such high literary pretensions, such admiration for the gusto of free spirits both past & present (someone willing to go to bat for Kanye's trumpist phase in the name of poetry in the very same magazine where she so artfully defends at length that no statement from either student protesters or counter-protesters has value, nor hers) someone who spends so much of her time quoting moral philosophers and pondering the future of writing... That this someone has essentially given up on politics.

My gripe, my visceral annoyance at her, my point is that the "towering mind of her generation" has given up on politics except as background, coordinates to tack the nuance-lacking masses onto, but that great spirits transcend somehow. No wonder she loves Harold Bloom & James Wood. Or that she's a child of Blair's cool Brittania. As a public intellectual, there is no duty to say anything meaningful, or whereof one cannot speak, to remain silent. If your thesis is that you have none and the dead are more important, why spend 4000 words talking about yourself, and how above it all you are and how ineffectual anyone writing about it is, and how you're the only one smart enough to have the dignity of recognizing it ? Why not make form fit content, as you have so often done ? Why not attack specific words, specific utterances that ignore the dead, instead of fighting strawmen ?

The truth is that Smith's outbursts of calling for dignity, reason, nuance, cooler heads are not anything new, not anything groundbreaking, nothing unprecedented, even by the great. You can hear echoes of it in Camus refusing to denounce colonialism because Algerians refuse to speak French. It is the cry of the moral esthete, for whom to side with the dubious, the inarticulate, the incoherent, the angry, all that is like poison to her. Oh, yes, she can defend Kanye's nonsensical racist, and already then antisemitic rants. But Kanye is an artist, "one of our best living poets". So are any writers of dubious politics, any convicted felon, any instance of sustained personal cruelty worth defending against the mob. Their sensibility just hasn't been expanded far enough, they just don't get it. The mob hasn't created anything worthwhile. The mob is childish, does not know the right words, does not rise up to the occasion like it should.

The truth is that Zadie Smith stands for something. If she really believed in the dead, or in utopian socialism, or in responsible public intellectuals, she would have written differently. She stands for transcendence. Her right to be in the world without anyone being able to make moral pronouncements on her, her work, the work of others. She stands for a plane above this world that matters to this world in ways she finds complex and delicate. She stands for herself being judged only on, and from, this plane.

Thankfully, like a child in a playground that insists the game she devised is very good and we should all follow the rules, and really she is a skillful player and we will all have fun with once we simply follow the rules, we are all free to ignore her.

hey anon! okay, so in this answer I'ma focus on two things:

my thought process behind finalizing on a PhD

my approach to furthering education

I. Why PhD?

1. I love my subjects. I love the interdisciplinary nature of computational biology and it's sister subjects and I can see myself in academia- constantly learning and researching and exploring. 2. Even on the off chance that if I don't pursue a career in academia, I think I need a PhD anyway? Most high level positions in the industry for life-sciences requires a level of expertise that only comes with a doctorate, and I think my career opportunities (+ growth) will be rather limited without it.

Considering these two points, a PhD would be most suitable for me.

I also want to ask, how do you set intentions for the beginning of the semester/school year and make sure that you stay committed to them? How do you balance separate writing projects with your coursework?

In addition, would you be willing to share advice for a reader halfway through her undergraduate degree? For context, I’ve had some rough setbacks in my first two years, but I’m really eager to prove myself. I want to build back my GPA and earn my way into a humanities PhD program.

Thanks so much! I hope your academic years are wonderful (in the true old meaning of the word!) and give you great joy, wisdom and inspiration.

#ADHDinacademia #PhD #dramione #darkacademia #hogwarts #oxford #oxbridge #ivyleague #columbia #manuscript #marauder #hermionegranger #undergradwoes #lumos

Sweet Piedra! Happy September, aka the best month of the whole year! (it may or may not include my birthday).

I will be a student this year again! I'm just about to start my second year as a phd student (programs in the UK are usually 3-4 years, so I'm nearly halfway through already?!).

The biggest advice I can give about studying is firstly: wanting to do well is the first step to doing well in anything, so you are already a good chunk of the way there!

2. pick things that you are naturally interested in (for option papers). Life is a hell of a lot easier when you're not making it harder for yourself, even if you think you *should* be studying something bc it sounds impressive (personally, I am not into Russian Literature at all, so I just don't force myself to slog through Crime and Punishment, etc. This simple realisation improved my life by at least 100%)

3. Do as much reading as you can. When I did my undergrad I was so surprised at how little reading people did lol, and doing the reading makes a big difference. The Professors have made the reading lists for a reason and they want to help you.

4. Utilise office hours! It took me ages to realise that I can just...go to the office hours and talk to the people who were teaching me. Go in person if you can. Talk them through your essay plans and they will course correct before they're marked. Let them know that you're interested in pursuing it further, and find out what they think you need to do to fill in any gaps you may have. Don't be discouraged if they're short with you, bc academics are a weird bunch.

5. Try not to be so focused on an end result that you forget to enjoy what you're doing right now. Romanticise the hell out of your life whenever you can. It's short!

In terms of my 'process' (sorry this is SO long):

This term is going to be pretty hectic! In addition to my PhD I work Tuesdays and Wednesdays at a corporate job to help pay the bills. I have funding, but funding in the arts is just...not enough.

I will also be teaching this semester for the first time ever (yay!) so I have reading lists and essay questions to put together before Oct. That's every other week though, so it's not too much work.

My supervisors and I try to get a 'chunk' of my thesis written a term (8-10k roughly). I have about 8k due at the end of this month as I have written 2 chunks over the summer, and will have another due at the end of term in Dec.

Also, I've been asked to give a talk about my research at the end of the semester which I am SO excited about, but it means I'll be adapting one of my thesis chapters for that, too! :)

Broadly speaking I do fanfic writing Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, as after grown-up-job-things my brain is too toasted for academic work. When I'm getting to the end of a story however I get real itchy fingers and have to get all the words out as quickly as possible, so I let a lot of other things slide, like cleaning or cooking or washing my hair or also doing my work. Gross, I know, but I've never been particularly functional when I have an idea in my head.

However, I do believe that if you are busy then you are more productive. I have 2 modes: INSANE or blob. I do not recommend this approach, but that is just the way that I'm wired. Today, for instance, I spent the entire day in bed. Tomorrow I really must go back to the library.

Oxford terms are only 8 weeks long, and honestly no matter how prepared I am at the beginning, by halfway through I'm clinging on by a thread. I try not to be too hard on myself when that happens, and focus on getting my work done and not keeping my house clean or whatever else I've decided to beat myself up about.

My username is about procrastinating for a reason. I just kind of productively procrastinate and then at some point everything just gets done?

Some personal mantras:

'everything in moderation, including moderation'

'say yes and figure it out later'

'the work comes first' (normally I say this to try and galvanize myself into staying in the library when I want to go to the pub)

'fuck it' (said when the pub wins out)

While it was on, few shows were as deliriously funny as The Other Two. It was a slow burn of a showbiz satire mixed with family sitcom. I miss it already. But I have to acknowledge that right before the final episode The Hollywood Reporter broke a story on complaints to HR about series creators Chris Kelly and Sarah Schneider. HR investigated and dismissed the claims. Most likely this just means they did not reach their extremely high standard of what would make it a hostile work environment. It doesn’t mean the events did not happen. I’ve seen some posts since then about how this is a sign that Kelly and Schneider are the real life Carey and Brooke Dubek. There is some truth to this. I don’t know how to process how it affects my feelings about the show. And the news brought out a lot of feelings.