Anne Bradstreet and Me…

This week, my American literature class has me doing a critical essay. Can you say, ‘Joy! What fun!” Yeah, me either. I mean, I’m all for analysing literature as when I write, I tend to have some subtext in mind, but when it comes to something that was written over 200 years ago, I kind of lose interest due to the language barrier.

I know, I know.. you’re thinking “Language barrier? But it’s American Lit?”

Me and Mr. Hughes…

Well, here I sit, in Panera’s again. It’s Saturday, so that means I am studying for one of my classes (ok, it means I should be, obviously I am writing a blog…). Today it happens to be my American Lit class, and since I am done with reading Faulkner, I am a much happier camper then before. As I Lay Dying was painful. Painfully painful. Although, toward the last 20 pages, it finally hit on a few plot points I actually got interested in.

And so not the point… 

My Buddy Dylan…

I have a poetry presentation I have to do tonight in my English class. Not a reading, but a critical analysis of a poem from our book. So, for 5 minutes I get to stand in front of a classroom filled with people who literally younger than half my age (there are only 5 of us in the class over the age of 35, everyone else is 20 and under with the majority of them being dual enrolled high school students), and explain the breakdown of a poem.

I was going to do Robert Frost and his “The Road Not Taken”