I am feeling like crap today. I am in week whatever the fuck it is of comps reading and this bitch is tired. I love reading (I mean would I be doing this if I didn't?), but I am just fucking tired of reading.
I waged war with Northrop Frye this week, finally conquered him today and have moved onto the Stone Diaries - which I love - but every time I finish a book I am all too aware of the next batch I have to do. For next week, I have a couple Early Modern Plays lined up, a whack of Whitman poems to read AND a Rushdie novel. Not to mention the fact that I finally want to finish Wuthering Heights and start on Moll Flanders.
The apartment is an explosion of books and papers... there has to be a better way to do this.
I am not sleeping enough, because I read in the evenings and end up staying up late either reading or working or actually finding time for myself to just relax, but then I get up early to start the day over again. Its an unending cycle...
I think reading Frye really put me over the edge with this whole comps thing, I saw no value in that exercise at all... it was not a helpful text, all it did was irritate me to no end. Also, I got a paper back today - the big HISTORY OF AFFECT one - and I was not happy. The comments were supportive, but they did not reflect the grade. Something that is very strange to me... if you liked it, then why not have the actual grade say so. Also, I am now having second thoughts about presenting it at a conference in Texas in September...
I'd like to stop now and relax... I think that I am taking Saturday off, yes I have declared it. Saturday = off... no if ands or buts... if I read it will be a novel on a Starbucks patio in the sun. Wanna join me?
Also, can someone please make sure I start going to bed early? Please?
My life is consumed by paper...
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