With only 3 more classes to go, this is the low point of the semester. We've all lost any enthusiam we had, but I'm the one who's got to come up with a lesson. There isn't enough time to write another essay, I can't be bothered finding another interesting article for them to read, and no one but me wants to watch YouTube videos of Chomsky.
To top it off I'm about a quarter of the way through the novel that just won the Pulitizer, and it's not getting better. I would like just one simple and evocative description, one sentence without a metaphor.
And the painter came today to say he would be back tomorrow because the plaster on the bathroom ceiling is still wet and would we please not use the shower.
At least there's Hamilton. Here's how it all began.