Oops.

Alas and alack, I have been shockingly remiss about blogging on here. And I'm not sure that I currently have a whole lot to say. Mostly I just feel behind on things, and about to embark on a four-day journey home which will prevent me from getting further ahead on any of them. It felt good to go back to my novel today, though it was bad  that it took me so long to write the few words I did, and I am so so far behind. It's not as if I went gallivanting off on particularly exciting adventures in the days that I neither wrote nor blogged. I went on one boat trip, ate delicious food and the most heavenly sorbetto of my life, talked to my best friends for over four hours, and drank a lot of tea. I read quite a bit too. Some Alan Bennett and Tolstoy and F. Scott Fitzgerald, and I finished the annoying, yet sometimes good book by Marisha Pessl. I went to a chamber music concert on Sunday and this evening. They played the Bartok String Quartet No. 5, and a Mendelssohn piece, "Das ist wahr?" I believe, that was really beautiful. I looked at war memorials here from the first and second world wars. Many of the names were the same. I love that sort of continuity. I sort of wish I had that-- that I lived in a town where everyone knew each other and your family had lived there for generations. Today we went to look at the goats my aunt has been keeping. They made me consider a life in which I tended goats. But in both of these lives, I doubt that I could spend as much time on the computer, or read Ovid, or go on to possibly study Akkadian. I think it is a reminder that it is difficult to know how much your life fits you until it is suddenly gone. On that slightly dark note, I will end this for tonight. Once again, BEDA has been not particularly successful, but I've had a much better time when not doing it than I had in April.