I have to admit that as a former English major, I probably don't use the word "ironic" correctly. That being said, I think it's ironic that now that I'm in library school, I'm not reading very much. I read for class, of course (most of the time), but I miss reading books like The Unbearable Lightness of Being or White Teeth. Books that crack my mind open, that make me say "Holy crap, that's brilliant" or laugh out loud in public places.
And then there's time for writing, too. I feel that if I just scheduled myself a little better (and if Facebook died), I'd write more regularly. Ironically, I did write a poem last week in class. I'm going to post it, and I'm not exactly sure why. It's not quite finished; it's kind of like an in-class exercise (I guess, in this case, literally). It's not based on anything that really happened; I was just thinking about the phrase "gray area" and thought a sonnet would be accomplishable in two hours. Like my previous poem, it is as yet title-less.
[I removed this poem for various and sundry reasons.]
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