I think, therefore… I… am?

07Mar10

It’s March break, and I feel like I can breathe again, think again, maybe even feel again, though this is perhaps the result of the new light of my life: the Neti Pot.  You can thank me for that picture in person, if you want.

The Neti Pot is actually irrelevant to this blog post.  It’s been 3 days since I’ve even thought about schoolwork, and it feels so good. I spent the weekend in Ottawa with my dear friend and former room-mate Caroline.  I met her extended family, we drove around a lot, saw Alice in Wonderland, ate delicious food, and I bought a Neti Pot.  That is not the end, though, my friends.

All these years, she’s been keeping a secret from me.

Every once in a while during our time together, Caroline would mention that her dad had a library in the  basement of their house.  I figured she meant like, a few bookshelves for outdated Pharmaceutical Encyclopedias, weird self-help books from the 90s and Kama Sutra guides to make the kids uncomfortable (like my mom’s ‘library’), but in hindsight, I should have known better when our other room-mate Moira (who worked at the library) found a book that Caroline’s dad had written while re-shelving  books during one of her shifts in our 3rd year at King’s.

THIS is the library (and Caroline):

YOU GUYS.  It’s an actual library.  It has an organizational system and real library shelves.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if there was an old lady shh-ing me from behind a pile of books.

I was in shock and immediately developed a new life goal, which is obviously to be as cool as Caroline’s dad.

Upon perusing this newly discovered holy ground, I noticed that most of the authors from the FYP program were fairly well-represented.  In that moment, it made sense to me why she took the program.  I still don’t know why I ended up there, but I think it’s safe to assume that I thought I would meet more literary hotties like Hamlet.  Instead, I ended up with a painfully vague understanding of philosophy, an insufficient introduction to Wollstonecraft as the first crazy feminist,  and a weird obsession with homoeroticism, younger boys and their teeth.

Anyways, all the reminiscing on memories of insecurity relating to the academic world reminded me of this book I saw a man reading on the subway a few weeks ago.

It was originally published in 1938, but then translated to English in 1949.  I am assuming this is the original cover for the English translation.  Even though I’m always attracted to colour, there’s nothing more powerful than a balance between black and white, text and image.

Filed under: Uncategorized   |  3 Comments