The Return

A brief list of what's been going on (with a promise of more detail later):

• I think I've formed my thesis committee, so
• I've begun working harder on my thesis.
• I'm enrolling in thesis hours this summer, and taking my final class in the fall.
• Family drama: a dear cousin passed away, and my parents are incredibly selfish through it all. I wish I could go to the funeral, but it is impossible with work (priority registration started) and school. (It's in Colorado).
  
• Miniature books!
• Work, work, and more work. It's my life.
• For the first time in my academic career, I took advantage of a professor's good nature and got an extension on an assignment. Then it took me three weeks to finally complete it. I feel pretty horrible, so maybe it won't happen again.

Anyway, sorry I've been away for a bit. I'll post more details about all the exciting stuff going on.

I Think I'm Stressed...

I keep thinking about all the stuff going on, and feel a little smothered--too much to do! Not enough time! It's a bad place to be.

Thank goodness it's Spring Break next week. No playing for me, though...just straight up catching up on everything.

Note Spoilers

I don't like having endings spoiled for me. When I read a story, I want to savor it, to follow the dips and twists and turns, and finally come to that satisfying conclusion when everything is resolved. It's part of reading/hearing a story--or least a successful story.

However, apparently in academia, we no longer read for enjoyment. Frequently, endings are spoiled by well-meaning editors. The site of the crime? Footnotes and endnotes. These editors put in the notes with the good intention of explaining bits of the narrative that might get lost because of antiquated language or conventions that are lost.

However, occasionally editors have the urge to insert interpretive material in their notes. Sometimes that interpretive material gives away a major plot point. I'm barely a third through Cleland's Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure, and now (because of a damned note), I think I know how it's going to end. I don't like having ends ruined, especially when I'm really getting into the story. Why do they assume that we read for information and not enjoyment? I may be studying this text for class, but I also enjoy reading a good story. And this is a good story*.

*With sex. Lots and lots of sex. In fact, this novel is also considered one of the most famous English erotic novels. For all the pornography, it also has a good story. More about this later.

Snow Day, Snow Day

I'm hanging out at home currently, reading Cleland's Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure (ooh, racy!) because there was tons of ice and snow this morning--though, it's somewhat melted currently. I was happy to get a day off to get some things done, like clean the house, read books, bake a tiny cake, play in the snow.

On our way to walk somewhere for lunch (and to play in the snow), something amusing occurred: My cat hadn't come home last night or this morning, which was extremely unusual--usually she is waiting at the door before bedtime. As I was walking in front of my downstairs neighbor's apartment, I noticed something sitting in the window--Rory! She sees me and starts meowing and rubbing on the glass. I knock, no one answers. I knock a little harder to make sure they hear me--I turn to Lance to appraise him of the situation, saying loudly "I just want my cat" when I hear a noise, and "Oh! Oh!". I turn in time to catch a glimpse of flesh. The door opens and what would appear to be a naked neighbor (hiding behind the door) tells me that she thought I was her roommate. She was a bit sleep fuddled, poor girl. Rory follows me out and promptly goes to my apartment and falls asleep.

It was pretty funny--I assume they saw it snowing, saw Rory outside, and felt sorry for her. In reality, we had just let her out, and would have let her back in when we returned an hour or so later. And she would have been fine outside for that length of time--she's smart and knows that we wouldn't leave her outside to freeze.

Well, back to making the most of my free day. Go snow!

Speaking of Snow

Weirdly, the last post I write involves snow. This post too deals with snow. You know, as I type this, it's snowing thickly outside. I'm trying to decide if snow/Arkansas weather is taunting me again. I suspect it might. In my heart of hearts, I hope that it's not.

Lance is so positive that we'll be free from our employment obligations that he bought bread and milk--not because we'll need to survive the harsh winter conditions (like most other Arkansas think as they fill up their gas tanks and wipe out the bread, meat, and milk). Rather, he wants to make grilled cheese sandwiches and hot chocolate and walk around in the snow.

We have snow traditions. One of them usually involves walking in the snow at night, when the world is silent and peaceful, wrapped in white. I love the sound of snow--it's like a pressure on my ears or a lack of noise or the barely perceptible melodies of snow striking surfaces. Something about the way the world is when it snows delights me; it becomes a land out of Faerie, a magical place. And that magic is most perceptible at night when there are few cars or people or creatures stirring about, and anything--anything--could happen.

So my cynicism toward snow is melting, and I'm hoping to enjoy the beauty and magic outside of my office, unlike the last day it snowed.