Almost ten past nine. I am very pleased to say that I will soon be in the habit of sleeping and waking earlier. In fact, I find myself drifting off right now, to what must be the strangest lullaby. Somehow, the intense, frigid pathos of atmospheric death metal is great with a hot cup of tea and a woolly sweater. The former is a lovely chamomile blend and the latter is a warm knit that I had gotten in Seoul two years prior.
Ah, to travel. To do so physically is impossible at the moment, so for now I am content time travelling and universe hopping through the most comfortable mode of transportation ever conceived: the book. I had decided early, for some odd reason, that I would spend the summer in the wintery dregs of Russia. It is approaching autumn now and I find that I have done exactly that. Chekhov, Gogol, Dostoyevsky...and as soon as I finish The Idiot I will begin Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. I began bingeing Chekhov’s grand body of short stories and plays, moved on to Gogol’s absurd tales, and, as soon as I found that I had gotten used to the style of Russian literature, pounced on the copy of Crime and Punishment that I had bought when I was two years too young. After finishing that genius work and filling whole journals with essays on my newfound love I began The Idiot. This book...is also running me out of notebook pages. It is a relatively short novel but it is taking me a while as I have to stop every other page to take a note and end each chapter with an essay. Dostoyevsky has become a particular favorite as of late, with all the poignancy, wit, and general wisdom he places in each word. So much to analyze! So much to read into! I am infinitely glad to have taken literature classes so as to be able to read into his genius further!
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