It was a hot, stuffy afternoon. The lecture from the professor was interminably incomprehensible – Bertrand Russell’s Theory of Knowledge. Or was it about Wittenstein’s Philosophische Untersuchungen? Perhaps that was Heidegger’s?
Davinia’s head drooped. She was fighting sleep. She would get the groceries after the lecture. She’d taken this paper at university because she thought she needed to expand her horizons.
For if we too in these investigations are trying to understand the essense of language...
Davinia’s head jerked down onto her blank note paper. She briefly napped. She woke. She had dribbled on the page.
When, for example, I am given an algebraic function, I am certain that I shall be able to work out its values...
I think I’ll do spaghetti bolognese for dinner. Or perhaps just cold ham and salad. Maybe followed by a citrus tart and icecream, thought Davinia. I shouldn’t really be doing such an abstract academic subject. It’s way over my head. It’s not that I’m stupid. Afterall, I do have a post-graduate degree in English Reformation lute music. I’ll have to get some lemons from the supermarket after this. And some ground meat.
The path of the point and certain of its characteristics measures, or the velocity and the...
We’ve got to get a few other groceries from the supermarket while we’re at it, thought Davinia. Some laundry detergent and... With that, she was out to it. Fast asleep. Head resting on her arms folded across the desk.
Half an hour later she awoke with a start. Someone was prodding her. It was the professor.
“You can wake up now, Davinia. What’s for dinner?”
It was the only thing her husband had said all afternoon that she understood.