Ashamed. That's how I felt turning in my reflective essay to Dr. Head. I pity the man's having to wade through my disorganized ramblings on the definitions of honor and virtue, and my interpretation of Achilles' behavior through the lens of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics. I took my first draft up to the Steno Pool yesterday, hoping to find Dr. Head in his office. He told the class he would be happy to give our papers a precursory glance before they were due today. Unfortunately, he wasn't in. I went to the Center for Writing & Thinking (CWT), where Amy helped me butcher my paper. We identified several problems, one of which was my lack of thesis. I had quizzes for which to study in Theater and American History, plus, mid-week church service, so I didn't get back to work on the paper until 9:30 last night. I was exhausted, and after spending an hour re-writing my first paragrah, I gave up. The effort was futile when my mind was so incapable of thinking. I decided to turn in the first draft. "If I perish, I perish."
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