A question I’ve been asked a lot recently is ‘How are you finding the time to write this blog every day and get your uni work done?’ The answer is, I’m not. My dissertation has taken a bit of a back seat and it turns out I have three major assignments in for next week. Taking this into account, life is so much more exciting when it’s incredibly stressful. In honour of my ailing literature degree, today’s post is on books. When I was little I had some strange ideas about books. I was convinced the writer of ‘The Famous Five’ was called E. Nibble-Iton and for some reason, I thought that Hemingway was an ancient Greek philosopher. That’ll do for an introduction, I have got a dissertation to write:
I’d been working in the library all morning, and didn’t have great expectations for the afternoon, so to cheer myself up I went to the union food outlet to buy some junk food. On the shelf, there was this wrinkly old pie that looked like it had been there since nineteen eighty-four; I’m not sure what the shelf life of pi is, but thought I might catch 22 diseases if I ate that one. As I was backing away from it, I accidently bumped into a man holding a big pile of black sheets, and knocked all his dark materials onto the floor. It was simply a series of unfortunate events, but he seemed to take it personally screaming it was a crime, and punishment was on his mind. Clearly we weren’t on the same page, he had a lot of pride, and prejudice against anyone who was a bit clumsy. The sound and the fury coming out of him was ridiculous, and although I wanted atonement, I was pretty spineless and decided to get out of there. I went to meet Harriet, and suggested going to the top floor of the Arts building, but the look she gave me was wuthering – heights weren’t her strong suit. Sitting harper lee by the lake instead, I ate my lunch listening to the birdsong. Harri had a bottle of Becks , but when she opened it, it sprayed everywhere; she always shakespeare too much. We chatted a bit, about the famous five ‘L’s of UEA and then I headed back to the library, lausten my own thoughts.
Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.