I AM SO SORRY. This week has been one of the most hectic weeks of this year! As such, I haven’t been able to blog at all for the past few days. I have three papers to write, finals to study for, friend drama to deal with, family tensions, girlfriend issues, and my own emotional and mental health to worry about. It’s been a tough journey so far. But summer is almost here, guys! In two weeks, I will be moving out of my dorm for four months where I don’t have to worry about schoolwork at all! I get to watch all the Supernatural and Doctor Who that I want, read ALL the books, and lounge around the pool whenever I feel like it. Oh and maybe bike and see people and whatnot…Possibly.
Let me do a quick wrap-up of what I’ve missed on this here blog:
- I left you off on Wednesday (so long ago!) on Day 25 of National Poetry Month, missing four days of poetry.
- My Week 17 goal was to finish The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest by Stieg Larsson. I have failed.
My Week Eighteen goals are:
- Finish Project Princess (Princess Diaries 4 1/2) by Meg Cabot
- Finish The Princess Present (A Princess Diaries book) by Meg Cabot
- Finish Valentine Princess (A Princess Diaries book) by Meg Cabot
I know that all of these books are silly and small, but I’m sure I’ve told you that I love the Princess Diaries series. It’s a guilty pleasure. To make myself feel better, I’m hoping to use these three small books to boost my book count and to make me happier. I’m pushing off the Millennium book until after finals, when I have all the time in the world. It’s a time-consuming book since the plot is so intricate.
As for the poem to make up for lost time, I’m posting another Poe poem from my book. This is also as an honor to the writer, whose name has been marred by the movie, The Raven. I was so excited to see it, but the reviews claimed it was absolutely horrible. I was still in disbelief, but my friends reported the same account. I refuse to spend upwards of $30 to see a bad movie. Anyway, this is for you, Edgar.
Alone, by Edgar Allan Poe
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.