Where to start?
I've missed LitNet badly...but I've been going through a lot.
I'm in Puerto Rico, and had started a Master's program in English Literature, but am no longer planning on sticking with the program. I've discovered just how much growing I have yet to do, and have realized that a lot of that growing needs to be done by spending time with my family, of which I have none here in PR.
So, it's back home for me.
I also realize that
I've been thinking about this for a little while now, since that day when the autumn mist decended reminding me of the special time that is this season, that is autumn, unique, bold and distinctive amongst seasons. It is, for me, a wonderful time of year, and though it is a time when the world dies back and things become sparse and bare at the same time it encompasses that last glorious flush of life, the fire before the burning, and it is this that marks out autumn as a special time for me.
What should I do?
We have these friends whom we've known for about five years; our daughters were born at about the same time (five years ago) and are really close. They're good people, but they have this one peccadillo that's really hard for us to handle. It makes the relationship feel thin. And it will make my wife explode if it persists. What am I talkin' about?
Not just any secrets, ridiculous secrets about a particular subject: where
Updated 10-20-2009 at 12:54 PM by The Comedian
Moby Dick, where have you been all my life? I love your symbolism. I love your salty language and morose sentiments. I love Queequeg.
I canít believe I have gotten through hours and hours of literature classes and never had to read Moby Dick! The good Dr. assigned Moby rather apologetically. We knew it was coming, but he seemed sad telling us to read it over the next two weeks. He seemed less than expectant that we would actually complete it. Well, by Girdy, Iíll finish it
Well today, after over a year and a half of ownership, with hundreds of thousands of photos from my trip across the country, with one-hundred and twenty three pages of poetry, over fifteen short stories, one and a half plays, the beginings of a novel, and many many other fragments of writing; my laptop has crashed.
Let's put it this way; computers are pieces of crap. Most of them last for up to two years, then we have to buy another one (for laptops that is). I never go on any websites
Updated 10-19-2009 at 04:00 PM by DanielBenoit