Peas and Literature

I used to think that there was this big joke being played against me and that every grown up person was in on it. This joke was, of course, called literature. Before I could read, I was convinced that There were secrets being kept from me in books and magazines, and I was obsessed with finding out what they were. So, I learned to read fairly early, and without much prompting by parents or teachers. It very rarely happens that something is actually as good as it is anticipated to be, at least for me. I am often let down (by pastries, films, clothing, coffee) and so I have developed a slightly cynical view of the world.

Literature didn’t do that.

As a young child, I realized that books were even better than I thought they were--there was more in them than I had ever imagined. Eventually I realized that there was no conspiracy against me, but that didn’t matter because of the wonder that was reading.

In lecture this morning, I felt like I needed to buckle myself in to my seat.

Despite my nightmares last night, I woke up feeling really good. My shower only took a few minutes, which is strange, because in the early morning it usually ends up taking a lot longer.

Yesterday I planted my little pea plants.

That’s not the beginning of the story though. A few weeks ago, in my biology lab, we had to boil little baby corn plants to death to show that they stop breathing once they’re dead. This made me feel guilty, so the next day I went to the hardware store and bought the little paper cups and seeds and soil to plant a vegetable garden. I planted peas and peppers and basil and so on.

Unfortunately, it was very windy between then and now, and something happened to most of the little baby plants (who’s leaves had not yet come up). The pea plants, though, did not get destroyed. So, yesterday, I planted them, finally. I hope they do well.

I love shoes.