The title of this second post is completely un unambiguous: I'm sitting in front of my computer reading news articles about the "Huntsman Girls 2012." There are a thousand things I could be doing with my time, but none of them sound quite appetizing on this lazy, Sunday morning. And so I'll probably read on, pretending that I'm interested in what three daughters of a Republican presidential candidate have to say through political parody. They certainly are clever.
This has been an eventful few months. It feels strange to write in a blog again. I don't really know what or who my audience will be; indeed, it is slightly embarrassing to even consider that this will receive any attention. But there's something cathartic about writing in a blog. I'll keep this up for some time.
In the interim, I need to finish a seminar paper...
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
The never-ending to do list
While I sit here, exhausted from a summer research fellowship, contemplating the sound of crickets outside my rented bedroom window, I grow sullen with the recollection of all that I actually didn't do this summer. I didn't read the rest of Moby Dick--indeed, I haven't finished a single novel that I had hoped to finish. I didn't work on finishing an essay manuscript for publication. I haven't begun to edit the essays for the journal I'll be working on this school year. And I didn't accomplish a dozen other things that depress me with their taunting looks.
Today a friend told me that I need to take breaks, that I need to know when I'm done with a project for the day and simply rest. The problem of not knowing when to quit runs in my family. My parents are in their sixties and they are farming a three acre garden. Similar stories about grandparents who never knew when to quite, to take a rest, to just do nothing, abound in my family tree. Rest has been a recessive trait in my family for generations.
But on one good note to begin this new blog, I heard back from an editor about an essay I submitted a month back. The editor would like me to bolster my argument with some stuff on intellectual property in the early Republic. I appreciate the editor's feedback, particularly because it was a very promising and complimenting readers' report for an editor known to be somewhat phlegmatic. I mean, there's no promise that the readers who will read the essay will like it, but, well, one must look for something positive amidst a morass of seeming failure and, well, wannabe malingering.
Today a friend told me that I need to take breaks, that I need to know when I'm done with a project for the day and simply rest. The problem of not knowing when to quit runs in my family. My parents are in their sixties and they are farming a three acre garden. Similar stories about grandparents who never knew when to quite, to take a rest, to just do nothing, abound in my family tree. Rest has been a recessive trait in my family for generations.
But on one good note to begin this new blog, I heard back from an editor about an essay I submitted a month back. The editor would like me to bolster my argument with some stuff on intellectual property in the early Republic. I appreciate the editor's feedback, particularly because it was a very promising and complimenting readers' report for an editor known to be somewhat phlegmatic. I mean, there's no promise that the readers who will read the essay will like it, but, well, one must look for something positive amidst a morass of seeming failure and, well, wannabe malingering.
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