super geekin' out!

Gosh, I can't even explain how obsessed I've been this past week.

But I'll try.

I've been reading more and more of the Amelia Peabody books that Kimberly has lent us. She did give me due warning that they get pretty intense. This past week I found myself entangled in the midst of a four-book "story arc," as Kimberly calls them (I don't know where she gets that term, but it works; I always wonder whether it's something she picked up during her English degree, which would make sense, since I have not spent much time in the world of English academics). One night, I had been reading later than I should have, and as the clock neared and passed midnight, I decided I'd better stop soon -- I would finish this section I was on and then go to bed. But then something immensely important happened. So of course I had to keep reading. And then in the next section something even more important happened. And so on, for the next several sections. I'm not just talking mild importance, either -- I'm talking major revelations and conflicts and resolutions that turn into even bigger conflicts. So then it was close to 3 AM before I finally made myself put the book away and lie down to sleep.

But that's only the beginning. The truly alarming thing is that it was another two hours or so before I was actually able to sleep. I was so thoroughly concerned about what was going on, and so completely at a loss as to how it would all resolve itself in the end, that I couldn't manage to get my mind to stop whirling. Even when I managed to force it away from thinking about Amelia and her family, it then immediately turned to some similar problems, of an equally vexing and equally fictitious nature. The last time I looked at the clock, it was past 4 AM, and it took me quite a while after that to finally sleep. I had to force myself to stay in bed -- to not camp out on the couch that night and read myself to sleep. Finally, I drowsed off, but even then I dreamt about Amelia. The odd thing about it was that I didn't dream about it in movie style, where you see the things going on; rather, I dreamt about myself reading about the situation and its resolution.

The last time I remember being so distraught about a book was during my senior year of high school. (There have been plenty of other obsessions since then, notably a semester at Ricks College when I devoured the Anne of Green Gables books, but none of them had quite the same emotional impact on me.) At the time, I was reading George Eliot's Middlemarch, and my mom and I had gone to Utah for some reason or other (quite possibly My Brother The Chiropractor's graduation from BYU) and were staying with my aunt. I was sleeping on the couch, and as I was determined to finish that book if it killed me, I read for several hours before going to sleep. As I went, I kept getting more and more involved in one particular plot (the main one, concerning Dorothea Brooke Casaubon, her crusty and pedantic husband, and his nephew, Will Ladislaw). [Mild spoiler ahead, inviso-texted between the asterisks.] *** I started to think to myself, "If only that nasty Mr. Casaubon would die!! That would take care of everything!" And then, at the end of that very chapter, he did die!!! I felt like I had personally killed him. It was terrifying. And no, it didn't solve everything (as one might have expected), so of course I had to continue on for another chapter or two. *** The chapters I read that night are among my favorites in the book, largely because my emotions were so highly involved in the development of the plot.

I've also become more and more interested in the ancient culture of the Middle East. I've long been interested in the languages (and thereby also the cultures) of the ancient civilizations of that region, and with the Amelia books being set in Egypt book after book after book, it's hard to curb my desire to learn Middle Egyptian, anything written in cuneiform (Sumerian, Akkadian, Babylonian, Assyrian ...), and even Arabic (though it is, of course, a much more modern language than the others).

In the midst of all this, I'm becoming increasinly annoyed with my program here. I feel very much as though I am ready to just strike out on my own and do my own research. I'm having a hard time deciding what I ought to do next in all of this -- transfer somewhere else (like the U of Chicago) where I'd be doing less English and more Linguistics, get going on a dissertation by distance from Lancaster, or just stick it out here. Some of the projects I'm interested in will take much more time than I can give them in a semester, or even in a few semesters with coursework going on, and I'm not very interested in most of the classes I have to take. (Except, of course, for Old English and Historical Linguistics this fall!) If anyone has some helpful advice, or even not-so-helpful advice, I'd love to hear what you think.

In the meantime, here's one of my favorite quotes from this week -- On Sunday, the Bishop mentioned that he'd like to talk with me for a few minutes, but said he didn't have time that day. Then he asked, "Will you be in town this week?" "Yep, all week," I told him. To which he promptly replied, "I'm not." Hmmm. That might present a slight problem, then. :)

Words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them. (20 points)