Sunday, November 02, 2008
Ich habe diesem morgen aufgewacht, um zu finden, daß ich eine geschlagene Stunde mehr haben. Ich soll meine Uhr stellen.
Jetzt kann ich weiter den Iliad lesen, die Werke Juvenals weiter bilden und ins Papier beschreiben, einen Netflix-Film ansehen, den Penthesilea Kleists weiter lesen... aber vielleicht werde ich nichts machen.
de latineque graece studiosa sum, sed non satis. linguae declinationum sunt difficiles. meh.
With the unwritten paper concerning the hundreds of manuscripts of Juvenal floating around, for which I have conducted not nearly enough fruitful research, looming over me in an almost physical sense, I took about three hours of this afternoon (mentally discounting one of them) to work out and swim at the student recreation center. The past two days I haven't moved much, reading and taking notes on points of Latin grammar for which my knowledge and comprehension are wanting. Swimming about fifteen (I did not count them) Olympic laps improves the posture.
Beforehand I listened to The Wizard of Oz soundtrack on an elliptical machine, then read the next two acts in Kleist's Penthesilea on a recumbent bike. I had forgotten how well such a combination helps me focus; after having exercised this way for three years, my body usually doesn't become too worn out, especially since I no longer work at a forty-hour week job that requires I stand on my feet six or eight hours straight. Granted, thinking rationally still comes with difficulty, but now it at least comes occasionally. Freshman and sophomore year I almost never dreamt.
Labels: dreaming, German, grammar, Greek, Heinrich von Kleist, Juvenal, Latin, manuscripts, Netflix, Penthesileia, research, routine, swimming, The Iliad, The Wizard of Oz, thinking, working out
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:29 PM]
It Could All Go Up In Flames
Saturday, October 25, 2008
The space-heater in my bedroom must not be situated within three feet of anything, particularly, anything inflammable. Upon survey of my room, one discerns first the futon mattress on the floor. Next one may note the disassembled, wooden futon frame stacked to one side below the windows looking out onto nothing but the ivy that covers the side of the house. To the right, behind the space heater, stands a near-ceiling-high wooden bookshelf, containing at least two hundred books. On the floor, to one side, binders, documents, and more books (mostly dictionaries and writing supplements) rest neatly, if undecorously. On the mattress are piled six stacks of books and notebooks relating to my graduate classes and the section of beginning Latin I teach. If I shift heavily in sleep, these will bury me. If the space heater sets them alight, they will bury me in flames.
I spent the day reading about medieval archaeology and prosopography. At midday I broke off on a walk to the student recreation center, to read the first act of Kleist's Penthesileia on a recumbent bike, and then to swim about twenty laps. All this conducted in blissful solitude.
I do not like anyone.
Labels: archaeology, bedroom, books, bookshelf, flames, futon, Heinrich von Kleist, ivy, Latin, Penthesileia, prosopography, recumbent bike, sleep, solitude, space heater, student recreation, swimming
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:22 PM]