I'm really too tired to be writing this. How sad is that? It's only 9 30 at night, for crying out loud. I should be... well, I'm not exactly sure what is expected of me at 9 30, but being tired in summer is not one of those expectations. Hence, I haven't gone too bed yet.
The writing exercise of the week has been journals. I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to fill 33 pages in 11 days so as to start a new journal with the new year. This has only ever happened once before, after my first journal. It would actually be really good if I could do it again.
I don't know if it is because I'm getting lazy, or if it's because I' m running out of things to say, or what, but I don't write in my journals as much as I should. In fact, I don't write as much as I should period. (See, this all comes back to what is expected of me.)
On the subject of expectations, I intend to reread Great Expectations before the end of the summer. Last time I read it was early lower school and I didn't get it. Go figure. Same with Wuthering Heights really, although that's one of my all time favourites. Being a Lit student has ruined me!
Safe and Happy New Year's