Endings, on the other hand, are a whole different story. I always have this feeling that just because something is coming to an end and there’s work to do for it to happen, then it will just get done and it will be over. It sucks, because everything just happens as you expect it to. At the ends of things, I’m always too preoccupied with the next beginning to even care at all.

This is so bad. I wish I was better at endings. I am never one to “finish strong…”

I know I sound extremely suck-ish, but actually I am on cloud-nine. I’m just whining because there are so many other things interfering with my day-dream-time. And they’re important things which is even more yucky.

Radmila

One more day of classes.
Three more projects to complete.
Two more finals to take.

Here’s to hoping.

[the footage is awful, but ah, so good...]

concerts give me such a high.

my ears are ringing and i have no voice.

<3 SP, thank you.

This past Sunday, I took the Q to campus. I didn’t have much work ahead of me (the week of Thanksgiving involves lots of class cancellations) and I had this really deep craving to read in the park with a cup of coffee. So I went to Strand on 12th Street and Broadway and browsed through their $1 shelf outside. I found so many great reads–Pulitzer Prize winners for a buck?! I had three books in hand when I found The Hours by Michael Cunningham. The cover with its soft, wilting rose petals–it beckoned me to read it. (Yeah, I judge books by their cover, bite me.) And I went across the street to The Bean (because I heard they had good coffee) and got what ended up being a surprisingly satisfying cup of coffee. I walked to Washington Square Park, found a nice quiet spot and began reading.

Now, the hardest part of a book for me is the beginning. If the beginning’s no good, I drop the book–period. And I wasn’t dropping this one. Of course, Leyla came soon after and we had long conversations ’til we decided it got too cold and maybe we should get some work done. It was just so cozy and lovely, that entire day.

I kept on reading whenever I could: I’d read on the train, I’d fall asleep every night reading (oh man, when’s the last time that’s happened???). On Thanksgiving day, I laid in bed for most of it and just read until I finished (you’d understand if you read the book).

The Hours was the perfect book. I desperately needed a book to get myself to start reading again–and this one delivered like no other. I’d love to summarize it, but it’s so complex and beautiful that I couldn’t possibly do a good job without destroying it.

Michael Cunningham, thank you.

I started reading Jane Austen’s Emma–it’s been lying on my shelf for years now and I never bothered to read it–and I’m a few pages in for now. We’ll see how it goes. If anything, I’ll be at the $1 shelf at Strand.

Love always,
Radmila