I must admit I’m reading Robert Frost
An omnibus of his eleven books
After a while the rhythm grows on you
And you cannot write any other way
And now I’m thinking that this must have been
The influence that left my poetry
The thing that made my writing teachers wince
And made them say that I should stick to prose
And so, if you are reading this right now,
You, David Schloss, or maybe Constance Pierce,
Just know that I am still choosing my words
With all due care (and maybe too much care)
And wondering why I came to see you
And what might be the source of all the light
So that the logic of my tale holds true
And readers may suspend their disbelief.
I’m reading, reading, reading for class. Just when I think I’m done I find another assignment and I open the book again to spend thirty more minutes reading the next section, the next chapter, the next handout, even the assignments I was told to hold off reading for some undetermined time. I don’t have time to fall behind. In fact, I have set myself reading goals beyond my course’s reading goals, assigning myself three more books to read above and beyond the requirements of the course. How much is enough? How much is too much? Do I really need to uncover a new theory of student cognitive development to feel that I’m keeping up with the rest of the students in the course? Well, there it is.
Knitwise, nothing is happening. Though I do feel the urge to knit something to enclose a wedding gift that arrived on Monday last week, too late for the party. Let us see what the woolen stash may hold…after I get some sleep.
Chocolate Sheep 