Setting the Progression

No quote tonight. I have been asleep off and on during the evening, and don't have the mental acuity to look one up and trust it to be apt.

Another day in the salt mines of registration. I saw many of last year's students getting their stuff together for their junior year. It was pleasant in some cases, not so much in others, about like I expected it to be.

I finally got the progression of works to be studied ironed out, and I was having a good time adding poems to the major works, but I may have taken a larger selection of those than is actually feasible. It's hard for me to pick poems. Give me a good anthology, and I grab greedy fistfuls of them.

I don't know if it's actually possible to have too many of them, but it's probably likely that we won't be able to hack our way through all of them in the course of a year. If you were given a bag full of gems, though, how could you possibly say this flawless stone was worth more than any of the others?

I wish I could teach a class of nothing but poems. How lovely it would be to surround myself with them for an hour everyday and share them, teach others to love their facets and colors. Maybe someday I can do that. Maybe I need to go back to school for a literary PhD and just quit fooling with this other crap. Of course I'd be in the "publish or perish" pool then, and I'm sure that would get old, too. Maybe I just need to go find a tiny house in Costa Rica, Ireland, or Japan, live in abject poverty, write and read.

I'm still on the meds, and I'm still not terribly lucid, so if this doesn't flow, excuse me. I can't wait to finish these darn things. They're making it very hard for me to focus my attention. It's almost like I've been up too long and have drunk too much caffeine. I hate that feeling, especially at this time of the year when I need all my mental faculties around me.