in which our heroine attempts to justify her work

I've been working at grading write-ons for the journal I'm on in school, and my thoughts on this process mirror my thoughts about that book I just read and posted about a few days ago. It's so arbitrary. I like something, someone else does not. Vice versa. What do I know? What do they know? Presumably our professors are better-equipped to grade my work than I am to grade my fellow students' work, but I imagine the same arbitrariness applies in some respects. On the other hand, I've been pretty good at predicting what grades I will get before I get them, with only three exceptions, so perhaps there is no arbitrariness and I've just spent too much time in literature classes in my life, reading various Virginia Woolf novels and thinking about the nature of language.

That said, I'll try to make my journal more effervescent and interesting in the future. I feel like it's sort of plodding and pointless recently. But then again, life is kind of plodding and pointless at the moment, so it's not a huge surprise. Everybody's friend Moon told me that he thought law school sucked the creativity out of him, and I feel the same way. Sort of struggling with the various shades of gray, aware of my written failings.

In unrelated Food News, I made spanikopida tonight, and pork chops with a cream sauce. Both were good. Perhaps not best served together, but I had phyllo dough and pork chops in the freezer. Phyllo dough is very very thin and a pain in the ass to work with, but it's so flaky and nice to eat, so it's possibly worth it.