Last Monday was a particularly stressful day for me. After laboring over analytical papers that dealt with…
-Beowulf as a prefigurement of Christ (whoa, that one never occurred to me),
-the three weird protagonists in Raymond Carver’s Cathedral (which admittedly I haven’t read but which G. had),
-Wittgenstein’s concept of certainty vs. that of Moore and Descartes,
-a comparison between Steinbeck’s “A&P” and James Joyce’s “Araby”, and
- the English writing teachers’ favorite: a comparison of Susan Glaspell’s two versions of the same story: Trifles and A Jury of Her Peers
…I found myself at the end of the day totally zonked out. Why does mental tiredness always translate to physical tiredness? I have no idea. What I know is that work has eaten up all my time. No time is left for play. Play is also a necessity, but it needs time and a lot of money. But work, the source of all money, needs a lot of time.
Am I making sense? I hope not.
Source: Time is platinum, money time-consuming
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