I... Shepherd Book/s

Maybe I'm crazy, but I've almost decided that I'll start my MA in English in Fall 2005. True, my life will be a living hell for a number of years, but at least I'll have my self-respect. So, New Paltz here I come. Or maybe not. I'm still not absolutely decided. Will driving to N.P. after work two nights a week break me? Will reading a shitload break me? Being judged by academics again, will this break me? These are things I must consider.

But a couple weeks ago, I was reading in bed, and suddenly (wherefore I know not) I remembered this old plan I had for getting my MA. The thought gave me such joy that I'm now almost convinced my heart is telling me to do it as well as my head. I'm still leaving it open for both to curse me in the end, however.

In addition: why do I get this feeling that I graduated from Bard without knowing a goddamn thing? I was a writing major. I didn't have to read.

Which is why I stand before you now, having read not much other than Dickens and Graham Greene.

Incidentally, right now I'm in the thick of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, a good 780 + change pages of Victorian fantastical joy. I recommend it to anyone who likes fantasy (mild) and the Victorians (heavy). Also, anyone who likes to read 800-page novels, as I do.