Sustained Criticism

What am I doing this Easter? Oh, I'm just reading a stack of books, attempting to fill the substantial holes in my knowledge of French grammar, and toying with the idea of teaching myself the art of metre (I'm laughable clueless, although I find blank verse fascinating). Nerd, who, me? Not at all.

Woolf's "To the Lighthouse", a workbook on French grammar, Nabokov's "Despair" (supposedly not as well-written as "Lolita", but more plot-driven and an easier read) and some 50 pages of "Bleak House" conquered and acquired, respectively, today. And we have Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway", somewhere. "Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself." Yes, "The Hours", and Woolf's part in the Bloomsbury group. (By gods, I adore my (flawed) education.)

My hair is still more or less in bobish-fashion, without any blow-drying or straightening on my part. That bodes well for the next hair dresser-less stretch I'm attempting to survive.