45% Wholewheat-y Goodness

Today Sarah is particularly excited. My favourite Lizzifer is slinking up to visit, this pleases me greatly :-D This called for some early(ish) morning tidying up and hoovering. She had best appreciate it. However there has been an unexpected effect of tidying, I now feel quite industrious and like working. Personally I put this down to using tidying my room as a forebearer before I have to start working furiously on an essay or presentation all year. So with no actual work to do I found myself at a loss. I made myself a cup of tea to try and calm my nerves but twas to no avail. The tea story is another dilemna I'll briefly go into. At the start of the year Erica arrived with a bag of 1,000 Tetley (pronounced tet-ee-le-tea, lol) bags which as she didn't pay for them she kindly allowed the rest of the flat to use. Now there are 2 left. I feel this can be positively correlated with Christine and I's excessive consumption. However there are now some Yorkshire teabags to use...these don't taste like Tetley tea - they have a pseudo metallic taste with isn't too groovy. But going back to my newly discovered industrious nature, I decided to plan out some future blogs, as I've had quite a few ideas and I tend to think about how I'd say things but never actually write them downas I'm usually in bed, trying to sleep, lol. So here is the planned trail for today's blogs....

My name is Sarah and I have an addiction. To what? I hear hypothetical voices cry. Well its quite shocking and a bit odd. Its buying books. I genuinely don't think I can help it. I adore reading so I don't just buy them and leave them on the shelf to look pseudo intellectual, I eventually read them. Yet like all good addictions, there's a specific type of book that I love the most: old books. That lovely, soft, delicate, musty smell is just like a homing beacon to me! I feel sometimes that the 'I'm an English Literature student!' argument will only get me so far. Four copies of Wuthering Heights does seem a little bit excessive...but it is one of my favourite books. When I was considering the extent of my addiction I reached the somewhat frightening conclusion that it had extended to paper. In Lancaster there is this really cute crafts shop which, on numerous Tuesday shopping trips, I have been known to visit and make purchases. In this magical shop they have really pretty paper, a piece of which is stuck up on my wall. The piece on my wall is extra special. Its square and has a red background but written on it different fonts and sizes are quotes on love and life. Those who have paid attention to the poems that frequent the end of my blogs may have noted these as two key themes to those chosen. My English tutor at A-level told me that there were four main themes behind poetry: Love, Life, Time, and Nature. I think, for the majority this is true. However going back to the uber piece of paper...despite its more general inspirational qualities; it has an Emily Dickinson quote.

Emily Dickinson, my most favourite poet. Even though you are supposed to hate the texts you study at A-Level, I love her writing to bits. She was an American Romantic whose innovative punctuation and relations to the natural world are genuinely entralling. Now this could become a major rant, and if so I apologise. One of my favourite poems is 'He fumbles at your Spirit' I love the imagery for example: 'He fumbles at your Spirit/ As Players at the Keys/ Before they drop full Music on - He stuns you by degrees'. In my mind I can see some empassioned pianist putting all their effort into a resounding crescendo just as I imagine the first flush of love to be. I also love her searing criticism of dogmatic religions, like in 'There is a certain slant of light'. I'm going to stop now as I maybe neglecting several MSN conversations...many apologies Mark, Pete and Beth. x

XXXVI
MY worthiness is all my doubt,
His merit all my fear,
Contrasting which, my qualities
Do lowlier appear;
Lest I should insufficient prove
For his beloved need,
The chiefest apprehension
Within my loving creed.

So I, the undivine abode

Of his elect content,
Conform my soul as ’t were a church
Unto her sacrament.

Emily Dickinson

{as cited on http://www.bartleby.com/113/3036.html as accessed 2/07/07}