You read it, you can't unread it

Soil. Here is a picture of soil. Here's a picture of turf. Turf is like soil but with grass. Here's a landscape with no soil. Here's a picture of soil in Greece and here's a picture I took in Italy where they didn't cultivate with terraces. Very odd, don't know why they did that. End of class. Woo freakin hoo.

Talk, talk, talk. No facts, no figures. One minute science is dumbed down to the point that I'm insulted, the next there's a lot of words I'm not sure I could pronounce and he does not explain. That history degree is looking a lot more attractive. It's not that I balk at the very mention of science. I enjoyed chemistry even though it was forced upon me due to disastrous admin problems. There was some solace in the structure of it all and sheer exhilaration making something from smelly liquids. I still have my tiny piece of silver stuck in a blob of blue tack and I kept my slime for as long as possible but it gathered dust and went a bit icky. But I had to shut out half of my brain to do it. The part that didn't buy it. The part that didn't give a damn about how things worked. It was better than physics, physics almost broke me. Maths reduced me to a blanket clad miserable mess with a tub of ice cream surrounded by numbers I didn't get but it was a qualification I was determined to achieve. That same switched off floating through. You can't imagine the disappointment that dogs me twice a week in that cold, clanky lecture hall. There was hope last semester even when it was dull there was always something interesting and my lecturer had a sense of humour. This semester is killing me, sapping away my will to give a damn.

Plus side, s'almost holiday time and I spent my afternoon in the museum looking at the mummy. This is archaeology. Pah! to your soil samples.