2011–06–23
horror!
That was unpleasant. Today I’ve spent eight hours, drank a litre of red bull and hurt my mind struggling to get my TMA done. I posted it four-thirty of the pm. [Real-posted as opposed to virtual, maths is retro..] What lessons have been learned?
None, I’d guess.
That was the most shameful cobbled-together peices of tripe that I’ve ever submitted. Because it was analysis, and I knew the answers, there’s a slight chance that I won’t suffer as much as I should, but I hope that I fail this one. I should. There’s no way that I should be able to have not done an entire unit and still do a TMA solely from an [inspired?] cribbing of the answers to the exercises.
I’m not sure that, at bottom, I want to fail, but there’s a large part of me who thinks that it would be a good idea if I did. I deserve a lesson in not getting into this sorry-state ever again.
The horror is that I may, just, get away with this—I sicken myself.