Today I started working on my master's thesis again. I haven't touched it since I started the Latin class from hell in May. Not Latin as in Latin America, but Latin as in "Nos bibamus multa sena vinum" (translated, "We drink many aged wines."). Well, the class ended July 1, I survived it, and now I have to change gears again to work with slow, meandering nineteenth century American literature.

Ah, even more "pleasurable, I get the opportunity to move from the precise linguistic rules of declensions, superlatives, and jussive clauses to the purposely vague and hyper-vacuous statements of literary criticism hidden in densly inoperative prose explications of meandering 19-th century works. Do you get a sense of how EXCITED I am to get started with my secondary sources? Yeah.

At least I am still enjoying the primary works. After all, American authors two centuries ago might not have been in a rush to get to the point, but at least they had purpose to their writings and possessed the sensability that the craft of writing and the importance of mutual communication between the author and reader is valuable (as compared to the aforementioned vacuous postmodern lit. theory folks).

So tonight I've already bored my way through 60+ pages of theory and empty attempts to explain why things were done a certain way without specifically saying why they were done that way. I think I'll reward my self by going to bed with my new Harry Potter - fluff reading comparatively, but at least enjoyable.