Dear Goldsmiths, University of Etc...

Dear Goldsmiths and the fabulous English Department,

     So far, there have been three weeks of classes and, surprise surprise, three weeks of royally screwing me over.  Fiction has been cool and anthropology uneventful (likewise, Shakespeare, as one would suspect, doesn't change much in this modern day), but then comes glorious Friday mornings.  Bright and early (or just early if it suits your fancy - thanks London), I've walked to Approaches to Text, a lecture of perhaps hundreds of English students attempting to learn God-knows-what. 
     The first lecture, two weeks ago this morning, was cancelled.  There was no obligatory email from an intellectual official of higher learning.  There was no professor ('lecturer' does seem like the proper and necessary step down).  There *was* me and five other confused students as to why there was no information posted.  So I waited an hour and went to seminar, where I was cheerily informed that lecture had been cancelled and "wasn't the extra hour of sleep wonderful?".  How everyone learned of such a sudden termination I still haven't the slightest...  In addition, lest I forget, the lilliputian instructor let me know that they had decided to change my seminar location and time.  Not just the location...but the *time*.  That kind of unobstructed power is scary, for who knew that Goldsmiths was actually a closet dictatorship?
     The second lecture began promisingly enough.  Swimmingly even, if one will pardon my colloquialistic habits.  Though the topic at hand - education paradigms for K-12 - did seem a bit beyond the course description.  Ah, a handout, this should clear things up...oh, it appears to be the wrong course.  I got up, defeated, with my mental arms up in the air in complete despair, and walked out, much to the confusion of the education lecturer, who I'm sure had nothing to do with the secret and infuriating plot against international students.  I went to the *correct* seminar an hour later, reading the note apologizing for the second sudden cancellation and welcoming Miss Greene's seminar students to join any of the other available seminar groups for this week only.  Ah, futile promises - so fragile, petals to the wind.  An email would be nice, though, as it is officially (not sure if the time difference affects this, so I'll have to get back to you) 2011.  Organization would even be better.
     So we've come to the third week.  After suffering several blows to my patience, I decided to visit floor 5 of Warmington Tower, a grand name for a run-down office building, and the home of the English department.  The secretary, perhaps also consumed by the plot to ruin my sanity, apologized for the lecturer and for the miscommunications.  (Understatements, how I loathe your eternal appetites).  She also let me know - hallelujah, in advance - that the lecture would be moved up an hour.  Okay, a little less sleep, but at least they told me.  Would they have done the same if I hadn't shown up in person?  One of those *what-if* situations that can only make matters worse for wear.  And it's Friday morning again.  I woke up on time (albeit, a trifle cranky) and made my way down to the lecture.  Smiling, I opened the door...and stood facing a dark room.  Silence; there were no other students in the lobby, likewise questioning the professionalism of the course moderators.  Were they all in there anyway, biding their time in the dark, mocking the stupid and naive American?  I wouldn't doubt it.  Maybe there was a surprise party in waiting.  Maybe my email account was broken.  There are no answers, just stupid puns and questions aplenty.  I waited until 10 past and walked back to my dorm.  I checked my email, and if you expected a polite explanation waiting in the inbox for my tired eyes, then you haven't been reading closely enough.  I don't blame you though, as it's a long and tear-stained story.  Guess I'll again wait for seminar for some more answers...there better be someone there *haha*.

                      Love,
                            Adam (the lone soldier, fighting for a cause that might not exist)

P.S.  [bashes his head against the keyboard: the most effective means of submitting a blog post]