Leah Reads and Reads and Tweets.

I despise the word 'tweet.' I told Anthony last night that I had seen a 'tweet on Twitter, and then I retweeted it,' and it made me throw-up a little in my mouth. See, I'm not a huge fan of Twitter. I tried it a few years ago when I got my first smart phone, and although it was fun for a while, it got overwhelming -- I also had a few friends that overused Twitter. I don't need minute by minute updates on Big Brother. FERNANDO. I stopped using it completely after 5 or 6 months.
Earlier this summer, I took an online graduate class through my undergrad (it was painful, but I won't go into it here so I don't piss anyone too important off) about technology and education. You might have seen the Reading Survey from my last post -- feel free to continue to answer the questions! -- which was an assignment for my class. I took away some valuable knowledge of online tools and social networking, but much of it was overwhelming and confusing, even though I don't think of myself as too out of touch.
In class, I had to start a Twitter account; rather than reopen my previous account, I started a new one which I figured I'd link to this blog once class was over. I used it just enough to meet the class requirements, but since the class has been over, I've been trying to update every so often. I'm not sure if it's a good idea to have a Twitter linked to my blog, especially when many of my Tweets have to do with me watching Trash-TV, but I'm attempting to follow those in publishing and literary fields, as well as post relevant news articles and information. The thing that makes me crazy, though, is the 140 character limit.
As someone who values writing, I looked into teaching tools revolving around Twitter. One, from Kelley Gallagher's book Write Like This, has students writing 140 character memoirs, similar to the 6 word memoir contest inspired by Hemingway's 6 word short-story:

Mr. Hemingway

For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn. 

Brilliant, right? I love Hemingway. I know, I mention that anytime I have the chance -- I spent about an hour last night telling one of Anthony's friends about how much I love Hemingway -- but I really do. I appreciate his brevity. Faulkner (love him, too) once commented that Hemingway "has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." Hemingway, true to form, shot back "Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?"
It's true, though. In a digital text world where everyone has the opportunity to self-publish, what kind of writing becomes significant? What kind of writing becomes the standard, the most accessible, the most convenient? As a teacher -- and as a writing tutor in college -- there's little more frustrating that a student who has clearly shift-F7ed a word (for you Mac users, that opens the thesaurus) and has no idea what the new word actually means, because, hey! It's a big word, it must be good!
Although Twitter makes standard grammar and usage rules less desirable due to the shortened character limit, does it provide a useful writing tool for students? In forcing the author to be concise and to the point, is the 'main idea' a more relevant teaching and writing tool? I think Twitter can help us pay attention to the important details. Hemingway's story is 6 word, but it has a beginning, a middle, and an ending. Readers have the basic plot. Does it matter what color shoes? No, because that's not the point to the story.

From Ordeal by Cheque

As a personal experience, rereading Tweets can be an interesting take on a life story. I'd be interested to read, as a form of memoir, Twitter posts over the course of one year. I've used a great non-traditional short story, Ordeal by Cheque, at the start of certain English classes. It's a story told by checks written over the course of several years. Readers must make inferences to get the full story by paying attention to important details; what's being purchased, the amounts, the date, the handwriting, the name, and other important information. Much like social networking, where people often post passive-aggressive messages, can't we 'read' that information, also?
As I forge into the Twitter world, I want to think about the idea of social media memoir -- how our posts, tweets, status updates, and other various forms of updating and communicating that takes place over a full day -- reflects our life story. So follow me on Twitter! I'm still not sure what I'm doing, or how I can really make it a Leah Read's Twitter, but I love seeing how other people are using the website to write their lives.

Follow me: @LeahIsReading

Reading Survey

For my grad class this summer, we have to create and share a form on Google Docs. In order to make this a really relevant and interesting assignment, I've decided to base it on reading. We're discussing the technology behind a form (and how it can be used for educational practices) but, if you have 5 minutes to spare, I'd love for my readers -- who are sometimes readers! -- to complete the questions. Thanks!

Closet Drama

This post is not about gay theater (although when my professor wrote 'closet drama' on the board last week, that was my first thought).  Instead, it's about theater and drama as a school of literature.  Man, do I sound smart!

I just finished -- well, I have to send my take-home final back by three-o-clock on Tuesday, but don't rain on my parade -- my most painful class ever.  EVER.  Not just of graduate school, but of all classes, ever, in my life.  I won't get into details; I might need some references some day in the future, but it was a painful class.  Imagine getting talked AT for three hours, twice a week, and about half of that time is spent telling stories that don't relate to class (and, I'm convinced, are all made up!).  There was very little discussion, we lost points on reading quizzes -- yes, I took reading quizzes in my grad class -- if we disagreed with his opinion, and he gave me a B+/A- on my short paper.  You need to pick!  That's a pretty wide span of points... VENT VENT VENT.   Okay, I'm better now.

Regardless, last night was the final class of the semester, and although we all ran out the door, I did take a few interesting tidbits with me.  Closet Drama has nothing to do with homosexuality; instead, it refers to a genre of drama that is meant to be read, or done in a small group reading.  They weren't intended for the stage, although some have now become stage performances.  Faust, for instance, by Goethe, was written as a closet drama.

I was never thrilled about reading plays.  I think my first real experience with it was The Miracle Worker in 7th grade, and I recall doing a lot of acting and watching film clips.  Then we moved on to Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream in 8th grade and Romeo and Juliet in 9th, but again, we mostly just acted things out or watched the movie.  In tenth grade we listened to The Merchant of Venice, but I won't go into that because I've already ranted and raved enough.  My first real interaction with drama was with Hamlet and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf in my AP class senior year.  That was the first time we read drama as a work of literature instead of script.

My point is that reading drama isn't structured well in most instances.  When I teach A Raisin in the Sun, I have students analyze stage directions, and I'm always amazed when they don't know what those are.  Reading 8 plays over the past 5 weeks has been enlightening; there needs to be a better way to teach drama.  It also opened my eyes to the idea that not all drama should be performed.

In context, I was given free tickets to two shows last week; I saw the new Neil Labute play Reasons to be Pretty on Sunday, and Angels in American, Part 1 on Wednesday night.  I was introduced to Labute during my summer course; we read two of his plays from Bash, which were beautifully written, interesting and deep pieces, based on ancient Greek plays.  I was thrilled about free tickets to the show.

I think, deep down, Labute is a closet dramatist.  It wasn' that the play was bad, but I found myself wanting to read it instead of watching it played out in front of me.  The actors were good, the staging was good, the music felt slightly after-school special, but I really couldn't get into it.  I found myself wondering if I would have enjoyed it more had I read the play first.  Much like turning a book into a movie, taking a script and turning it into an actual performance can be a let down.  There are so many interpretations out there -- I did my final project on Antigone, and there have been countless productions of that play done in a variety of ways, based on the vision of the director.  Are we teaching kids to be lazy by simply showing the film?

I found myself wanting a copy of the script, to follow along, or to go back over on my way home.  I wanted to see if the production was just missing something, or if I honestly just didn't really love the play.  There was so much potential there, I just wanted to analyze it, word for word, get something out of it that I couldn't get from watching 4 people yell at each other on the stage.

Angels in America, on the other hand?  AMAZING. I'm dying to read it, but for a completely different reason.  I'm attempting to broaden my horizons when it comes to literature.  My 52 books list included non-fiction for that very reason; I don't read enough of certain genres, drama included.  SO for my summer reading list, which will branch off of my 52 books list, I want drama suggestions.  Any plays you think are worth checking out, let me know.  I'm trying here!

The Alchemist and Personal Legends

I feel the need to go back to an earlier post and discuss a bit further how I feel about one of the books I recently read.  Today is just one-of-those-days, and you all know what I'm talking about, where I just feel very blah.  I have moments where my life feels very unsatisfying, where I feel overly depressed, but can't pinpoint any actual reason, where I have no motivation to do anything.   And I LOVE to complain about days like today in my blog!  It's my blog, so na-na-na-boo-boo to you.

In trying to keep myself upbeat, I want to talk a bit about The Alchemist, a really lovely book that has been compared to The Little Prince, another simple, lovely, allegorical novel.  The Alchemist is one of those used-book-sale-at-the-library purchases -- reminder to self, renew your library books so you don't have another obscene fine -- and I'm so glad that it was a recommendation for my project.

I'm not a huge fan of self-help books, so I prefer to get my life lessons through fiction.  The Alchemist is really about what each of our purposes is throughout life: our Personal Legends, as it is called in the novel.  Our Personal Legends is determined by fate, but it is up to each of us to follow the path, or to ignore the messages from out heart.  The main character gives up everything he has always known to follow a path set forth in a dream.  Along the way he meets people who help him on his quest, but it is always through struggle, and it never comes easily.

One of my favorite messages (or storylines, depending on how literal you want to take this) from the novel is about the heart; the boy (our main character) attempts to communicate with his heart, and begins to understand how things work:

"Everyone on earth has a treasure that awaits him," his heart said.  "We, people's hearts, seldom say much about those treasures, because people no longer want to go in search of them.  We speak of them only to children.  Later, we simply let life proceed, in its own direction, toward its own fate.  But, unfortunately, very few follow the path laid out for them -- the path to their Personal Legends, and to happiness.  Most people see the world as a threatening place, and, because they do, the world turns out, indeed, to be a threatening place.
"So, we, their hearts, speak more and more softly.  We never stop speaking out, but we begin to hope that our words won't be heard: we don't want people to suffer because they don't follow their hearts."
"Why don't people's hearts tell them to continue to follow their dreams?" the boy asked the alchemist.
"Because that's what makes a heart suffer most, and hearts don't like to suffer."
From then on, the boy understood his heart.  He asked that it, please, never to stop speaking to him.  He asked that, when he wandered far from his dreams, his heart press him and sound the alarm.  The boy swore that, every time he heard the alarm, he would heed its message. (Coelho, 131-2)

As we grow up, according to the heart, we don't want to be reminded of our Personal Legends, because it's too upsetting to realize we've not achieved what we secretly (or, perhaps, not so secretly) desire.  Occasionally we don't even know what would make us happy because we aren't willing to experiment.  Other times, we are willing to make jokes about the things we want in a facade of our own emotions.  And, more often than not, we simply just push those dreams to the side in the face of 'real life.'

Once upon a time, I had a dream to be a writer.  And, although I occasionally update my blog and I do keep a writer's journal, I realized very early on that was not a logical dream.  I don't have the talent, the resources, or the lifestyle for that type of adventure.  Or do I?  Am I just giving myself excuses, so that I won't feel regret about never trying?

My first grad class was about writing memoir, and the feedback I received from the other students (and my professor) was part of what encouraged me to at least start this blog.  Unfortunately, in most areas of my life, I tend to ignore my heart, and play it safe.  And, to a certain extent, I don't know if I ever have a true comprehension of what my Personal Legend might be.

I'm trying to take the negativity and turn it instead to my search.  My new goal: relax, and say yes.  I need to be calm and take everything that comes to me as a possible part of my personal legend and my path. And perhaps this blog isn't a bad start.

What is your personal legend?  And how will you achieve it?

My life is a joke

For my second summer graduate course, I'm taking an online class about technology in the classroom.  Assignment one?  Create a blog!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA this is why my life is a joke.

I am being forced to keep a blog -- although it seems like we are only required to blog twice, which seems a little odd -- and I find that f*cking hilarious.  I suppose if I was graded on this blog, I'd actually update more than once every 4 months.  Or I'd fail.  That's always an option (regardless of what I'm forced to tell students).  Perhaps, though, I will update that blog more often than just the 2 required posts, but probably not.  Is it strange that my only problem with the blog assignment is that I have to use WordPress (which is fine, but I prefer blogger) AND that I have to title it SLM508LAB?  Honestly, I hate the blog only because of the name.  It's the course tag and my initials, just in case you were dying to know.  How boring and awful is that name?  I am just so vain.  (I probably think this blog is about me)

All that aside, as much as I complain about grad school, I finally feel like something will be worthwhile.  Looking at the syllabus is terrifying because I feel like she's trying to squeeze in every type of technology possible into an 8 week class, but as I skimmed it, I saw things that should be interesting.  I finally activated my Google Reader account, and I can't wait to see the Digital Storytelling resources, but some of it bugs me.  I have to use Twitter, for instance, and I gave up on twitter because it pissed me off too much.  I also hate that I have to make multiple accounts for essentially the same things I already use for this class.  I need a new Flickr account, a new GoodReads account, and probably others, but I'm too lazy to go through everything just to complain.

Basically, my life is insane until I leave for Italy.  REMINDER: Tell you professor you are going to Italy and need to finish assignments a few days early!

In other news, I am teaching as a fake long-term-sub at my old high school for a woman out on bedrest through the end of the year.  The good news is she may take maternity leave at the beginning of the next school year, so if all the thousands of jobs for English teachers fall through (sarcasm at its finest) that might be something I at least get an interview for.  I also spent 4 days reading as a sub for the librarian at a high school and as an English teacher who was just proctoring exams (so sad).  I tore through 4 books in 4 days, and it feels really great to cross a few more books off the list.

This is me in Chicago, excited about books.  Also, it totally says "Cock Dancing" behind me.

I picked up 8 books at a used book sale a few weeks back.  One of the local public libraries was selling books for a dollar, and as a sucker for cheap literature, I made a U-Turn and went in.  Okay, if you want to get literal, it was a horribly executed K-turn, but still.  The physical turning around did happen.  I bought 5 books from my list, and 3 others that will eventually go on a shelf in the hypothetical future classroom.  I can honestly say that I loved the 4 I read, and The Reader is rumored to be excellent, as well.

I don't know or remember who recommended these books for my list, but THANK YOU.

• The Alchemist (this is already on my mom's summer list, mostly because I told her she had no choice)
• The Hours
• Wide Sargasso Sea (Don't lie to me and say you recommended it; I just thought about it, and realized it was one of the originals because of my love for Jane Eyre)
• Bastard out of Carolina

I'll do some individual comments on these later, since this post is already MUCH longer than I normally make you suffer through, but they were each magnificent, and if you read them, we can chat about them :)

"Stupid people are dangerous."

You might recall my earlier posting about Suzanne Collins' trilogy, The Hunger Games, which you can check out here.  I had to read the book for my grad class last semester, and I tore through it, and then tore through the other two.  I loved the books.  Seriously, I LOVE THE BOOKS.  I have a soft spot for Young Adult lit, and I even have a soft spot for crappy YA lit, but these books made me feel like I was discovering Harry Potter all over again.  I love Harry Potter more, but I now had a new world of characters to discover and get to know.

Yes, I am one of those weirdos who feels like book characters and authors are my besties.  I cried a little bit when Maurice Sendak died (that post will come at a later point) because, growing up, I felt like we were buddies.  I don't feel that way about Suzanne Collins -- sorry, ma'am -- but the characters she created?  Man, I wish I could hang out with some of them.

Well, let me rephrase that.  I'd like to hang out with them in my world.  I don't want to live in Panem.  That place totally sucks.

So it's been 2 months since the film came out, and I still have not seen the movie.  This wasn't an HP movie, so I didn't feel the need to do a midnight showing, but I still really wanted to see the film.  My parents saw it last week, so I convinced Anthony that we're going today.  And in 4 hours, I'll FINALLY be seeing the movie I've been excited about since they announced the plans to make the film.

I'm not sure what it is about books into movies, but I seem to put off seeing the films (Again, Harry Potter is a weird exception, and it has its own set of rules, so don't question me) because I have this underlying fear that they'll ruin the book.  Most of the time, they do.

I also have an issue with people who see movie series based on books -- or even single films -- and claim that makes reading the book a non-issue.  Are you kidding me?  Stupid people are dangerous.  Thank you, Collins, for agreeing with me on that point.  I was always appalled when students told me they'd "watched the movie instead."  How can you possibly expect to get the same out of a film?  Granted, I've used films in classes; when reading The Secret Life of Bees, for example, we watched segments of the film instead of reading them in class, but that was partly a timing issue and partly a 'none-of-these-damn-kids-read' issue.  I do think some film versions of books are amazing -- I love showing To Kill A Mockingbird -- but for the most part, films are watered-down versions of amazing stories.

Think about how many people saw The Help, but wouldn't ever pick up the book.  Or, for my fellow readers, have you ever run into someone who told you they saw a movie, and when you say 'oh, did you read the book?' they respond with 'that was a book?'

Stupid people are dangerous.

I understand reading is difficult for some people.  Trust me, I teach middle and high schoolers.  I get it.  But to tell me a book is more boring than the movie?  That's just laziness.  My boyfriend is one of those people.  It's a point of contention with us, but I suppose I'm used to it by now.  I like to buy books for him, just to see what he'll do with them, but for the most part the one just sits on the back of his toilet.  Books are never more boring than movies, it's just hard for people to get pictures from the words.  A movie cuts out all the work, but is that the best way to go about it?

There's something to be said about reading the books first.  I'll let you know how I feel about the movie.

A Passage to India

I suppose at this point it shouldn't shock me to log in and see the last time I posted.  ALMOST TWO MONTHS AGO?  How could I let it get this bad?

Truthfully, I feel bad -- not for any of my 'readers' who have since given up on my actually completing this project -- but, selfishly enough, for myself and my horrific lack of motivation.  I find that the more effort I put into things, the less I get out of it.  It's really a downer.  I apply for job after job, day after day, and I either hear nothing back or, true story, I get an interview and a job offer and somehow STILL end up without a job.  Much like Voldemort, that will be the job-interview-that-must-not-be-mentioned.

I really have to remind myself that this blog -- and most other things in my life -- are for me.  They aren't for anyone else.  Yes, I love to write and I love to share, but this blog is for me.  I started it during a rather low part of my life, and much has changed since then.  One day I will go back and reread some of these posts and think to myself 'wow, you were really insane.'  Then I'll remind myself of the goal for this blog, and think 'okay, okay, you had some decent insights back then.  And,' I'll hopefully think to myself, 'you've come a long way.'

Or, I might just delete the whole thing in embarrassment.

The point is I'm trying to stop beating myself up for the little things.  This is a side project, something fun, and although I wish I was updating more often, I'm not going to freak out anymore over 1 month, or even 2.

Right now, I'm reading A Passage to India by E. M. Forster.  It's a slow process because I only really pick it up during prep periods while subbing, but it's excellent.  It's also the last book on the syllabus for my grad class that ended on April 30th.  I didn't finish the book for our last class because I was too busy finishing my research paper on James Joyce.  I got a basic summary from a classmate, so I know how the book ends and I knew the major climax in the story... but for some reason, I really felt the need to keep reading.  It might be because it came after some very painful  Brit novels -- after not reading Tarr and becoming disgusted with Joyce, it was much easier to read -- but the book is written so well and so subtly that I couldn't put it down.

Once I finish the book, I might watch the movie.  Who knows?  I still haven't seen The Hunger Games, but I made Anthony promise to see it with me this weekend.  I'll probably put off watching the movie like I do everything else, but in 2 months, I'll let you guys know.

ps - I'm also halfway through A Doll's House.  My summer class is all drama, so I'm going to be reading the Greek classics up through modernism.  And he gives reading quizzes, so I won't be skipping any :)

Hypocrisy at its finest

I did not read my book for class last night.  Seriously, I didn't read it.  And it wasn't because I didn't have time -- we had spring break last week -- and it wasn't because I had too much to do.  I mean, I was busy.  I've been lucky enough to sub every day for three straight weeks -- taking off today was a choice (Anthony and I have special plans today) -- and I started my second job last week, so I did have a lot going on.  But it was simply because reading that book would have been a ridiculous waste of my time.  I hate to say that, because in general I enjoy school and reading and discussion, but I refused to waste my time on this assignment.

The assignment at hand was to read Tarr, a novel by Wyndham Lewis I bitched about in my last entry.  In all fairness I tried to read the first chapter, but by the end of it I still had NO idea what the eff was going on.  Online summaries (there are about 2, and both stink, by the way) were not overly helpful, so I decided to do something I rarely ever do and neglect to read the book.  I openly admitted that to anyone who asked that I hadn't read it, but really, we spent half of class discussing the novel, and now we're done with it.  That's it.  Less than 2 hours of my life.  Am I glad I didn't read it?  You bet.  And I wasn't the only one.  Thank goodness for Ben, a fellow graduate student that I met in class last semester.  Of the 4 people (myself included) from last semester's class who sit in the very back row, he was the only one who read the book.  Danielle and I skipped it, and Beth wasn't even in class.  What a great use of my money.

Don't get me wrong; I enjoy grad school, I like the other students in my program, and I like both professors I've had so far.  What I do not enjoy is being mixed in with undergraduate students who are pretentious and not that smart.  I know I was one of them just a few years ago, but it's frustrating to be in a class and not get to discuss certain aspects of novels/poetry because they aren't at that level.

Anyway, I didn't read the book.  And I still participated in the discussion and got positive feedback from my professor.  I may not have directly commented on the novel itself, but I added to class.  Ahhh, the art of bullshitting.

I learned how to bullshit my way through a discussion in high school when I didn't read Babbitt (which I think I mentioned last entry).  I still got an A on the final paper and pulled out some solid comments during a discussion, but I never actually read the book.  As a teacher, it drives me crazy when students don't read for class.  Hypocrisy?  I don't want to go that far.  Even when I've refused to read something -- or honestly just didn't have the time -- I still prepare myself for class.  I'll read summaries and author bios, even read critical analysis to make sure I at least can follow the conversation and lecture.  Does that make me a bad student?  Or does that simply make me the best kind of student?  (Obviously I like to think of myself as a pretty fantastic student, but really, can I be both in this situation?)

I don't like to think about how much money I pay for these classes when I'm refusing to read something for class, but maybe that's why I act this way.  I'm paying a decent amount of money for this class, and I'm not going to waste my time on something pointless.  As long as it doesn't come back to haunt me, anyway.

Tarr and Jane Slayre: An Easy Decision

I read a book for fun last week.  No, seriously, I did.  This is an exciting moment!  This week La Salle is on Spring break, so my class tonight is cancelled.  Well, I guess it's not cancelled, but it's more non-existent, since it was never scheduled in the first place.  Watching my words!  Anyway, since class is cancelled (thank goodness) I decided that I could take a breather from working on my paper and spend some time reading a book I picked up on the bargain shelf at Barnes and Nobel -- Jane Slayre.  Now, before you jump to conclusions, although the author is clearly using the popularity of books like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, she's not part of those publications.  I haven't read any of the Jane Austen style books (even though I love zombies) because I can't stand Jane Austen (see early posting Jane-Austen-Phobia from September of 2010 for more information).  Jane Eyre, though, is one of my favorite books, so a Jane who stakes vampyres?  PARTY.

Strangely enough, although I really did love the book -- if you're a Bronte fan, and enjoy a good parody, I'd suggest it-- it reminded me of the one Austen book I didn't hate.  Actually, it was the only Austen book I ever finished, but really, Jane Slayre reminded me a little of Northhanger Abbey because of all the supernatural elements.  Interesting!  And although it was a fun, quick read (really, 2 days and I was finished.  If anyone wants to borrow, let me know) I started thinking about literary merit.  Grad school is warping my brain.

But really -- how much credit should I give the author?  It was Charlotte Bronte's story, and some sections are essentially word-for-word.  Should she even be given the title of author?  The plot of the story was mostly intact, but it was lacking all of the symbolism from the original. It wasn't literature anymore, but fluff.  Yes, if you really wanted to enjoy the book, reading the original was necessary, but there was nothing to analyze, nothing to discuss, no deeper meaning.  It really just made me want to read Jane Eyre.

You know, with all the free time I have. 

I did originally toy with a paper topic that would allow me to use Jane, but instead I'm sticking with just James Joyce, which brings me to topic two of this post.  Has anyone read Tarr?  In case you are wondering what Tarr is all about, here's a link to the Wikipedia paragraph about the novel.  It's a modernist novel by a guy I know only through his mention in A Moveable Feast.  Hemingway hated him.  And since I love Hemingway, I wasn't thrilled to see Wyndham Lewis on my grad class syllabus.  There is only one other novel I refused to read, but I might have to add another book to the list.  I couldn't even get through two pages today without wanting to throw the book across the room.  It's not that it's confusing, I just have no desire to waste my time on a book that even our professor said wouldn't make any sense.

Over it.

I enjoy challenging literature.  I like to think analytically and critically about my reading.  I do not like to feel  patronized, or like the literature I read isn't on a level high enough.  I don't enjoy pretentious literature.  We had to look at an excerpt from Finnegan's Wake in class the other day.  Pretentious. No one can honestly say they enjoy that.

Although, I have a blog about literature.  Maybe I'm the pretentious one.

And, in case it was bothering you, the other book I refused to read was Babbitt in 10th grade Humanities. And in my defense, almost the entire class was in the library sparknote-ing the book before class for about 3 straight weeks.  I don't think anyone read the book...

No one should trust me with a blog... NO ONE.

Last Published: November 29th.  WHAT IS MY LIFE?

Honestly, though, I can't believe I let things go this long.  Almost 3 months since my last post!  And it's not that I forgot about my blog -- really, I thought about updating pretty frequently.  It just was that I had nothing to say.

Really?  Me, nothing to say?

Let me clarify: I've been reading (I'll talk about that in a later post) but most of my reading has been centered on class (20th century brit lit, what a joy!) and over the winter break, I spent most of my time applying for jobs.  And not just teaching jobs, oh no.  I quit my job at the wine store right before Christmas (long story that has no place here) and then ended up with a job that just didn't work out with the timing of things.  AKA there was no need for my to be an employee, and I needed a part time job with real hours and hourly pay.  I did hear back about a tutoring job today, though, so fingers crossed on that!

Really, though, I didn't update because I'd put myself into a downward spiral of 'funk.'  And not the good, James Brown funk, but the I hate myself and my life kind of funk.  I knew it was a silly way to be; after all, I'm lucky to have at least the subbing jobs and to have a cheap place to live, even if it is with my parents.  It's just hard to find the positive in my current situation, and I didn't really feel like I had anything worthwhile to say.  That's a bad place to be, especially for someone like me, who really enjoys the sound of her own voice. 

The one thing that has helped?  Remembering why I did it.  I knew I didn't want to stay in Maryland forever, and the timing of leaving was because of a variety of events.  I just couldn't stay there anymore.  I wanted to get my masters in English, I wanted to be closer to family and to my home.  So I've pulled myself back up and set realistic goals.  Updating this blog every day is not a realistic goal, and reading all of those books in a year with my schedule was not a realistic goal.  Instead, I'm going to add to the list and just keep on reading.  And maybe, just maybe, I'll one day finish them all.

For now, though, I have to finish the end of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.  And speaking of Joyce, maybe I should add Ulysses to my reading list.

Or not.