Summer of Bummer

Autumn began yesterday, and I began re-reading Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. The Romantics were so extreme! Everything is the most this or the most that, the greatest this or the purest that. It's kind of funny. I think you still see traces of this with some people. Exaggerators primarily. Yeah, I had to wear a jacket on the way to work and it was cloudy and cool all day. My tomatoes haven't even turned red yet! Damnit.

I went and bought 3 heavy duty books on Sunday because I had been reading a John Grisham novel (The Chamber) and I sort of felt guilty I guess. Guilty pleasures! So now I'll have to grapple with Frankenstein, The Sound and the Fury (never tried Faulkner and I'm sort of terrified), and the Colossus of Maroussi, by Henry Miller. Brow furrowing abound.

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