Two weeks from now, we'll be on the on the happy road west, back from whence we came, away from doorbells and disinterest. The company is making me work on Wednesday the 20th, despite the fact that school starts Monday the 25th 2000 miles away, and all of our belongings are in two different cities at two hours apart from Logan, in opposite directions. We should be able to move everything into the new apartment, but in all likelihood, our late arrival will leave us bedless, as the apartment complex has only one or two they give out to the first-comers who need them. My quest for knowledge this summer has been put to a decisive end by my wife, who triumphantly returned my copy of The Sound and the Fury to the Fairfax County Public Library unfinished. After reading two other 20th century classics earlier this summer, and thus widening my distance over Sarah in the race to read as many of the "1001 books you must read before you die" as possible, she pulled some sneaky witchcraft and checked out the first Harry Potter for me, knowing I would become addicted. I'm on the third one now, and they are indeed very enjoyable, as I suspected they would be, but I fear now that I still have four and a half of those to go before I can fully return to more dignified literature. Once again she has bested me, and I have to give her credit. But this is far from over.
The Power of a Mother’s Story
1 year ago