Parfois elle vaut la peine, parfois elle n'est pas.

Hating writing about Shakespeare right now. Henry IV Part I. A Midsummer Night's Dream. It's all blending into a big mess of perchance, anon, thou wilt, zounds, doth proclaimed. A Lot of these close readings I've been doing feel like I'm digging and digging though the material and, despite hitting bedrock, I keep digging and digging for content.

Thou sayest well, and it holds well too, for the
Fortune of us that are the moon’s men doth ebb and
flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by
the moon.

Andrew's probably coming to Amherst this weekend which should be fun and then I might be headed to the Cape next weekend depending on whether Jim has room for me. So many papers and tests in the next week though. Power through it trooper.

Speak easy,

Neil