Late Night French Kick

So here we are at 1:20 in the morning, and I can't sleep because I've decided that I really like post-meal naps during the day and espresso late at night. The fact that Starbucks is even open past 9:00 pm is really a mistake. I should really be reading Chaucer, but let me reiterate: it's past one o'clock in the morning, and I'm reeling from coffee. Medieval literature doesn't bode well. Two knights are ankle deep in blood fighting over someone named Emily at the moment, and that's all I know. If I have to, I can talk about the motif of the idyllic female in Chaucer, and the role of wives, which I think is completely different. I couldn't go on about it for very long, but as long as I start the conversation, I don't really have to.

Dave wrote a new story, so you should check out Uhaul if you haven't already.

I can't seem to come up with a good idea. I've thought about illegal Mexican immigrant stories, something involving a magic elephant, and that long lost massive project of turning Weezer's blue album into a play, but nothing is really sticking.

I finally finished Tropic Of Cancer, but I'm still confused about the ending. If you've ever read it, you'd know that it ends with a lot of running around Paris with a large amount of money, trying to get away from some woman, weighing a return to the United States. If you haven't read it, I'm not really ruining anything by giving that away, because the book consists almost entirely of running around Paris, though usually without money, and they're generally chasing women. Maybe that's it. Maybe the big picture is one ironic joke. Miller and his cohorts spend an entire novel chasing women penniless, then when they finally con their way into a large amount of cash, it is used largely to avoid a woman.

I don't know if that was a concern. I think Henry Miller just drank and did his thing, and novels were born. Some people drink and do their thing and, as a result, windows are broken and things are lost. Others produce works of art. Things are the same, things are different.

I don't have anything else to say. Look for a new story soon, sometime after I digest Woyzeck, A Doll's House, The Canterbury Tales, and all this genetics crap for my psychology class.

I'm not even mentioning my ecology class. That deserves closer analysis. I'll talk about that when I understand just what the hell the goal is.

NOTES ON A CLASS CALLED "URBAN ECOLOGY OF CAMBRIDGE:"

-Parakeet acoustics
-The Tree Of Heaven
-Community service
-Books to buy: Peterson's Field Guide, Plants Alive!

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I'm as confused as you are.