Thursday, November 09, 2006
This month sucks! I have really not read much of anything so far this month. I have been so busy, I mean, we are talking hardly even having time to hold a book in my hands! I have three essays due next week, and two more due closely on their heels. I have been trying to work on them this week so I won't have to worry about them as much, but I am not done. In a dream world, I would like to have all three of them done on Monday. In the meantime, I think I had better pick up a book. At this point, if I could just finish one book set in World War 1 or 2, I would be happy with myself!
You know, though, despite the fact I am hardly reading and have been rather busy, I can't really say that November has been a bad month. I just need to finish some books. I am going to try and take the In the Stacks Challenge seriously and not buy any books. Christmas doesn't count, and believe it or not, I still have an outstanding order from Amazon. The big pile of books I ordered for my birthday, one of the books didn't come out until today, so I should get them next week.
Oh, and I am getting a new computer chair! I currently am using one of those fold-up chairs that you use if you need an extra chair at the supper table. It's not comfy for long-term essay writing, so a very nice person took pity on me and offered to buy me a new one. I have the nicest friends. Anyways, I hopefully will be back next week with reviews (I have three outstanding ones from October), as well as messages to make sure that people don't think I dropped off the face of the planet!
And, for this time of year, I leave you with this:
In Flanders Fields By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) Canadian Army
IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Lest we Forget