Almost

I'm on my last paper.

The trick isn't making it through this week with all my work done. The real challenge is surviving the week, completing my work, and still being awake/alert/alive enough to drive to Chicago on Friday. My hope, however unrealistic, is to be finished with everything by Thursday afternoon so I can make it to the Cleveland Orchestra for Sibelius' Symphony No. 7.

Besides the obvious benefits of spending time with Tamara, catching up on sleep, and not writing papers, I'm really looking forward to break so I can have time to read. The problem I have with books is that I collect them far faster than I read them, so there are piles of unread books in my room right now calling my name.

I'm always torn between reading "serious" or academic books and fantasy. I have a tome on Christianity by Hans Küng and a book on the gnostic gospels by Elaine Pagels that I would love to read this summer. I also want to read something like The Brothers Karamazov or Anna Karenina. It's also been a long time since Billy Shakes and I have hung out. However, it's The Wheel of Time and other fantasy novels that are calling my name. Maybe I've been doomed since day one, when my mom named me after a character from a fantasy novel, but I always fall victim to fantasy's siren song. It's upsetting to me that so many people draw a line between sci-fi/fantasy and "serious" literature. Yes, there is a phenomenal amount of trash, but what about Heinlein, or Le Guin? Even Jordan, as fluffy as The Wheel of Time is, had a firm hold on the English language.

Oh well, too much pnn, to little paper writing.