It was the oddest sensation in the world. I finished Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, I finished the Romanticism reading, and suddenly I felt free—at 11 tonight, I didn’t feel behind in my work. In the past few weeks, I managed to have fun and put off the work for nearer to when the readings were due. And I finished Jane Eyre (from last week’s readings) on Monday, so this feels so odd to not be behind…I broke the surface of the sea of work and felt refreshed, deserving of a break without guilt. I spent my hour before midnight watching Doctor Who (the character of Charles Dickens was in the episode…coincidence that I’m reading Great Expectations for next week?) while putting away laundry from yesterday. Then the next hour I just goofed off and socialized with multiple friends and family on facebook.
But this day started off good and stayed at a constant rate of good movement over contentedness all day. Romanticism seminar went over essay prompts and Madame Bovary (unfortunately, I didn’t finish until after the seminar; I got the ending spoiled for me, yet again. Ugh.) and the element of excess in her sad life of discontented marriage and neglected motherhood (the poor child has barely any mention in the novel, enhancing the child’s neglect even by the narrator). After, I grabbed lunch back at the flat, looked out at one of the warmest days in Norwich I’ve experienced so far here: 15 degrees or so. Families and friends were having picnics outside on the field between the ziggurats. Football was held outside (not American football) and teams gathered in different places throughout the grass.
I went to the library and had one of the most engaging reading experiences that I’ve ever had: I realized that Stef and I were literally a page or two apart (different publishers, but nevertheless the translation was the same) so Stef suggested we race through reading to the end. We had basically 70 pages left, give or take. We stopped each other every now and then, asking or being excited to mention plot points like the “gala days” of Madame Bovary, her receiving an order by the king to pay her debts, and her eating arsenic and dying so grotesquely and leaving behind a husband still oblivious to her two scandalous affairs. My pages are smaller, so I blame that as the reason why Stef won. But still, we made good time and the experience felt like watching a television show with someone. We were reading in sync, and even looking up cool words (English majors…) like “concupiscence” (which means lust).
After this, it took all my will to get changed back at the flat and run over to the track workout, ready to receive any painful session of what turned out to be the same as last week: 1000m- 3 x 300m-1000m-3 x 300m. But no final 1000m like last time. Again, it was still worth it.
I had another microwaveable dinner (I bought two last night for £4; it was a deal) and then cooked up mash potatoes to have more food. Meanwhile I coveted my neighbour’s food. I admired Vinnie’s steak and homemade chips. I was eyeing Marie’s lettuce but I was completely surprised when she fed it to me and then lifted the plate to my mouth and proceeded to stuff it in. Well, I did eat it since I was weirdly craving lettuce, but I did feel like a legitimate garbage disposal—not unlike the playful nickname I had at one point back home YEARS ago at some camp (I was adamant to have the whole table of ten people not have waste, so if anyone didn’t finish, I was the solution, even a half-eaten popsicle). I went to the library with Dan, finished Romanticism readings, and then returned for the two hours of leisure. Now bed!
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