The Quandary

A second post in a week? What is this?

Well, I felt like writing.
I also feel like doing nothing else.
I do not feel like finishing my homework, even if it is reading poetry and analyzing other people's political commentary. I am tired of it!!! All of it! So put that in your pipe and smoke it, college!

I have been watching Downton Abbey, which is delightful. Maggie Smith is in it, and she makes it ever so much more delightful because she is delightful and so very Maggie Smith-y. She has killer one-liners, too, for example: "Put that in your pipe and smoke it." OH YES.

Now what was I saying? Hm. Okay. You know those days, THOSE DAYS? Today was definitely one of them. It was a miss-church, clean-house, read-blogs, fret-over-future-past-and-present day. There was also much listening to radio and folding of laundry, and copying of quotes. Mostly I waffled between "I can't take being at home anymore!" and "I like weekends and Anne of Green Gables," and "What am I going to do with my life, OH NO!"


But seriously, what am I? Going to do with my life, I mean? Both are valid questions, don't you think?

I bookwormed and analyzed myself out today. English may very well get me nowhere and make me utterly useless for the real world. I am terrified of this. I also do not know what else I am more obsessed with or equipped to do, so stinks for me, eh? Perhaps it is time to invest in some stencil for decorating my future box-house, since I am not 100% broke yet? (Only like, 93%, really).

Art and Languages and Culture are pretty much the prettiest things of this world to me, but what cheer? Beauty is only skin deep, and besides, I am mostly sure they do not have bodies, right?

But then, how to do away with knowing exactly what Donne's sonnets mean, and reading compulsively for sixteen out of almost twenty years, and that part of my brain that explodes into light when I read that brilliant line, and my creeping, horribly tenacious literary ambition, and my horribly bothersome, romantic ideal a la (el? Is this French?) Gilbert Blythe? HM?

When I am fifty, how many starving kids will I have helped feed, and how many decaying towns will I have helped repair, if all I have made of myself is English-this-and-that?

Doth it not seem extremely selfish and oblivious to you? I do not know what it seems to me, that is for sure. Or there are too many seemings and I cannot make one out of them.

All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream...


Smack me, please.

Goodnight.

PS. This is the first time I have finished a post and not been ashamed of my bad sleeping habits. IT IS ONE A.M. AND I'M PROUD. Is it really bad to think going to sleep at one is prideworthy? Yes? Probably. Yes. Sigh.

PPS. I saw Tangled on Friday night. Good life decision. I would talk about it more, but, like I said, one a.m.

Goodnight!