Well, no, I didn't do anything with the pots on the porch yesterday. The porch is the best room in the house, but it's 30 degrees out there now and the wind is nippy. Anyway I usually wait until Flunk Day to plant, whenever it strikes, which is usually in the latter half of the term. Anyway, I haven't watered anything indoors in over a week, am an undeserving gardener. Anyway the fevery stuff persists, Netflix languished in the mail pile, and I needed to do much of nothing yesterday. So I started work on Charlotte Smith's Elegiac Sonnets and watched The Dreamers.
***
from Smith's The Emigrants
These Exiles tell--How Hope impell'd them on,***
Reckless of tempest, hunger, or the sword,
Till order'd to retreat, they knew not why,
From all their flattering prospects, they became
The prey of dark suspicion and regret :
Then, in despondence, sunk the unnerv'd arm
Of gallant Loyalty--At every turn
Shame and disgrace appear'd, and seem'd to mock
Their scatter'd squadrons;
No more messing around with the Spring 2006 English 344: Romantic Literature syllabus. It's over, hear me? Over. Get on with your life.
***
"Poets are like creepier versions of teddy bears."
***
Laundry epiphany: didn't you know? You sound just like all the other evangelists.
***
