I've been trying to get back here to post for some days.
My little 30 in 30
meme has fallen by the wayside (but will be resumed). However, each evening, when I even think about approaching a journal entry, I realise I am rather worn out of words. This semester of uni I have my heaviest reading load ever. Quite apart from textbooks (of which there are many, and large ones), I'm also required to read about seven novels. At the moment, I'm juggling Geraldine Brooks' March
, Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights,
and Flannery O'Connor's A Good Man is Hard to Find
. I am relishing them all, only I wish I had a little more time for the relishing. I wish I could read them slowly and give each work the respect and appreciation and sincere, thoughtful mulling it deserves. Because I have a sinking feeling that, with so many wondrous books in the world, I will not go back and give these ones a second going-over -- and they really should
have a second going-over. There are many good things about tertiary education, but one of the worst is how much must be crammed into each semester.
Completely unrelatedly, here is a West Wing season 3 picspam
which will have you launching an instant rewatch.