I started reading a book last night--The Thirteenth Tale. More interesting than the book itself is the fact that I'm actually reading something that isn't part of my course materials or a student essay. This is thanks mostly to Eli, who cleaned the house this weekend while Eliot and I were gone. I do love that man. I was so shocked to come home to a clean house with no laundry and no dishes to feel guilty about not doing that I settled down with a book. I like it so far, but it made for a weird morning. It's one of those books that suck the reader in. I was so transported that when Eliot woke up from his nap I had to remind myself what my here and now consisted of and that I wasn't in fact at an old woman's English estate looking out the window at a rainy garden landscape. And then I came to work. I can't really describe how awkward that transition is. Maybe it has something to do with today being a rainy, dull sort of day as well. So I'm looking forward to jumping back into the story tonight...though I shouldn't, because I have essays to grade--a new batch just today...
I feel like my life is divided between having essays to grade or not having essays to grade. They loom over me so.
I hate that.
I also hate Mondays, by the way.