the daily helen: sunday
I am sitting here in my apartment on a Sunday evening. My preparatory work for tomorrow is done, I've had a cup of real English black tea, my cat is curled up next to me (she's giving me the kitty stiff-arm, but that's immaterial), Helen Mirren is on my TV, and I find myself wrapped up in this total sense of well-being.
I've spent most of my day working on The Novel. It may never see the light of day as far as publication goes, but I'm trying to tell myself that it doesn't really matter, that that shouldn't be the point; and besides, who knows? Stranger things have happened.
How is it already September 7th? A month from tomorrow I'm flying to Texas. In less than a month I'm flying home for Tom and Rachel's wedding. What if my semester whirls by, and at the end of it I find myself with no prospectus and no conference paper?
Enough of me. Here's your daily Helen:
I've spent most of my day working on The Novel. It may never see the light of day as far as publication goes, but I'm trying to tell myself that it doesn't really matter, that that shouldn't be the point; and besides, who knows? Stranger things have happened.
How is it already September 7th? A month from tomorrow I'm flying to Texas. In less than a month I'm flying home for Tom and Rachel's wedding. What if my semester whirls by, and at the end of it I find myself with no prospectus and no conference paper?
Enough of me. Here's your daily Helen: