It’s gotten that bad around here. I’m comparing blogging to laun-dry.
I’m sweating out end-o-semester projects all weekend. Due dates:
Wednesday, Friday and next Monday. And that’s mostly all there is to
say. I can’t believe how the writing demands have made me over,
reconstituted a once energetic, vroom-ish rhythm into flub-dub-flub-dub.
I’m fairly stoic about it all (shrug-eh-dee-do-dah), but I *feel* distinctly
different about writing. Period. I don’t know whether it’s the
exhaustion of X-treme reading for four months. Who knows. I’m ready to try
to crawl these creatures onto the monitor. My latest ploy is munching on
leftover fortune cookies when I get stuck. I’ve posted the unfortunate
read-outs here, but they’re not quite the boost I need. "Good
journey"? "Showered with good luck"? C’mon! More than luck, I
need a sentence on Barthes and Lakoff and myth on the right.
BTW, anybody know how to cite a fortune cookie?