The Bard

I have not written in quite some time. The beginning of the semester and my new job have kept me very busy. Apologies to all my loyal readers. 

Shakespeare has been taking up most of my time, a blessing and a curse. Almost all of what I have read and watched in the past two months has been plays. I am trying to read at least one novel between each, for my own sanity. Though I am really enjoying the time spent in Early Modern England. It is good to be reminded that there is still so much I haven't read, so many passages that will still give me chills. Richard III is an unexpected favorite, with, I believe, an even better villain than is found in Othello. I look forward to reading The War of the Roses in its entirety; I would like to see more of the Duke of Gloucester.

Despite much success in my literary conquests, I feel rather dull lately. There is an endless exhaustion that I cannot shake. I do enjoy speaking with people and my work, but I am still happiest at the end of the night, when I am about to drift off to sleep. I loathe my own indifference, but things just feel blurry. The external is secondary to the internal. Often, when I ask myself what I want, all I can come up with is 'quiet.'