Miscellaneous blah
Jan. 10th, 2008 04:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nonionayEveryone's getting sick, and so am I. Just feeling weak and vaguely feverish and unable to focus. My delicately placed wound feels completely healed, so I don't know if I'm suffering from a belated infection, or if I'm just coming down with the same crud as everyone else.
Lying in bed unable to do more than read means I'm well through Samuel Delany's "About Writing." He makes me want to crack open the literary criticism books I've kept from my one college literature class. He also makes me sad that I spent my copious amounts of adolescent reading energy on Piers Anthony and V.C. Andrews. But then, I did read some classics in high school, and while some of them I disliked (The Scarlet Letter, The Winter of Our Discontent) and others I loved and will effect me forever (Catch-22, The Left Hand of Darkness), many I realized were good, or even enjoyed, but I didn't appreciate or understand what made them good (Crime and Punishment, Giants in the Earth). Delany wrote ten zillion novels by the age of nineteen, but if I did that, I'd have ten zillion crappy, indulgent novels and would probably be in the same place I am now. Maybe that's not true, and I should just shut up and not be jealous or regretful. Maybe I should appreciate that I'd have ended up with a useless English degree instead of my sorta-useful design one.
In other news, I'm sorting the crap out in my room, for ease of moving. I've gotten good at clearing out the excess junk I've accumulated over the years, so happily, this will be an easy task. >sigh< I need to take back to Western the music stand which S stole and left to me years and years ago. It's served me well, both as a manuscript holder and memorabilia of my old friend. It's still covered in red and pink pastel, and has taped to it the tiny paper frame she used to compose figure drawings. When she visited me a few months ago, I gave her the huge pastel drawings she did of me. They're one more piece of my past gone, but they're better off with S, and they're one less thing to move. God, I sound like I'm talking about an ex. I'm not, really! Just being meditative about turning points in my life, and leaving past, beloved, things behind.
Guh, my body wants to eat, but I don't feel like eating anything but baked cheese puffs and drinking my yummy mega-antioxidant juice. I'll probably return soon to Samuel R. Delany and unconsciousness.
Lying in bed unable to do more than read means I'm well through Samuel Delany's "About Writing." He makes me want to crack open the literary criticism books I've kept from my one college literature class. He also makes me sad that I spent my copious amounts of adolescent reading energy on Piers Anthony and V.C. Andrews. But then, I did read some classics in high school, and while some of them I disliked (The Scarlet Letter, The Winter of Our Discontent) and others I loved and will effect me forever (Catch-22, The Left Hand of Darkness), many I realized were good, or even enjoyed, but I didn't appreciate or understand what made them good (Crime and Punishment, Giants in the Earth). Delany wrote ten zillion novels by the age of nineteen, but if I did that, I'd have ten zillion crappy, indulgent novels and would probably be in the same place I am now. Maybe that's not true, and I should just shut up and not be jealous or regretful. Maybe I should appreciate that I'd have ended up with a useless English degree instead of my sorta-useful design one.
In other news, I'm sorting the crap out in my room, for ease of moving. I've gotten good at clearing out the excess junk I've accumulated over the years, so happily, this will be an easy task. >sigh< I need to take back to Western the music stand which S stole and left to me years and years ago. It's served me well, both as a manuscript holder and memorabilia of my old friend. It's still covered in red and pink pastel, and has taped to it the tiny paper frame she used to compose figure drawings. When she visited me a few months ago, I gave her the huge pastel drawings she did of me. They're one more piece of my past gone, but they're better off with S, and they're one less thing to move. God, I sound like I'm talking about an ex. I'm not, really! Just being meditative about turning points in my life, and leaving past, beloved, things behind.
Guh, my body wants to eat, but I don't feel like eating anything but baked cheese puffs and drinking my yummy mega-antioxidant juice. I'll probably return soon to Samuel R. Delany and unconsciousness.
