Up in a Room of My Own, watching the crowds wander back from today's football game. Sky threatens rain. Drinking some black tea, polished off a muffin (I made some more, this time with chocolate). Watching an officer give a motorcycle a parking ticket. My latest reading, "Moments of Being," came in the mail yesterday and I kicked off this afternoon with beginning "22 Hyde Park Gate." It's about to get disturbing.
I also started "The Adventures of Augie March" by Saul Bellow because Fionn Regan told me to, but I'm struggling. Bellow's style is throwing me off.
Not that I'm planning on trying or anything, but it's still good to know what would happen if you printed the Internet.
I want to write again, but nothing comes very easily anymore. I may have already exhausted all my best ideas. I was inspired by the dinner scene in To the Lighthouse, but I can't seem to say anything worthwhile about it. I talked to Angela and Rachel about writing yesterday and they were reassurring in separate directions.
Going home for fall break will be perfect. I go through rhythmic bursts of pining for our home in Davidson.
I can't say how much I love these four lines:
And now good-morrow to our waking souls
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room, an everywhere.
-- John Donne