Welcome To My Bed

Spring pre-registration, and wombats.


Registration for spring classes never ends up the way I expect it to. I go into the day with a list and end up not actually taking any of the listed classes. This year, it was the advance writing seminar and a poetry workshop with a professor I really enjoy; too bad both of these courses conflict with a special class at Smith about Woolf's intellectual circle. I think I'm going to take my second class at UMass instead, some upper level class on writing experimental fiction, which is perfect for my thesis. All is well, just in a very different form that was in my mind when I woke up this morning.

The wombat above has very little to do with this, except that Cass is preparing to present on Christina Rossetti in the class we have to be at in roughly five minutes, and Christina Rossetti's pre-Raphaelite painter brother had a wombat he got through the mail. He wrote it an ode. It will be on her soon-to-exist blog. I silently pressured her into a Twitter account, and the blog is coming, I promise. I am a bad influence when it comes to technology.