Wednesday, May 11, 2011


Here's the thing about doing graduate work in English literature: all semester is nothing but reading books and going to class and talking about them. I mean, that's not completely true, but mostly. The beginning and middle of the semester in no way prepares you for the end of the semester, which is complete pandemonium. And I'm always asking myself, why haven't I kept up? Why am I not better prepared for this?

But the answer is, I have kept up. I've been reading, I've been discussing, I've been nodding knowingly when some chump starts in about post-humanism. I'm in there, doing it. Semester's end is just . . . different.

So, I'm ready for more of this, but with more achiness, because who in the world wants to write about androgyny in Pynchot's The Crying of Lot 49 when it's springtime?

*I totally will run tomorrow.

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