Those Fields and Orchards Whose Outlines I Knew By Heart

Some days more than others, I fear the end of this project. As I was passing through Balbec today, courtesy of M. Proust, it struck me how easy it is for this daily reading to affect me in a few ways. As a whole, positively- my attention to my surroundings is certainly much higher. With that attention has grown my appreciation of my surroundings, as well, which has led to, certainly, more enjoyable days.

Of course, there's no denying that even in just these first eight days, I have found myself dreading the prospect of sitting down to one hundred pages of reading. Largely, this is due to my feeling of "and I'm going to spend 3 hours reading, now, and won't be able to do anything else." Each time this feeling hits me, though, it is followed by the no-longer-an-epiphany of "and I have nothing of any greater importance (without even ascribing any over-importance to this task I've put upon myself) to be doing, so shut up and read," which makes me generally feel like a whiney little baby.

The thought of reading one hundred pages a day, at first, seemed simple. After three days, it felt daunting. It now feels "regular," as though it is nothing extraordinary or unusual for any reason, and that I should have no reason not to do it, anymore than any reason other than enjoyment to do it, either. While it is true that my amount of "free" time, hours spent doing nothing idly, has certainly diminished and thus so has my ability to, say, practice both piano and drum rudiments for several hours a day or kill dragons on Xbox as to keep myself occupied, I cannot say that I have felt all too "put out" by this so far.

I fully anticipated writing about Proust today, honestly. It was going to be, in all likelihood, the most intellectually stimulating entry thusfar, as it related to the very real parallel of M. Proust's society to our own in regards to social position, wealth, and self-deemed importance as they relate to advancement professionally or socially, with tie-ins to the recent political events in this country and abroad. Instead, though, I decided to reflect upon the details of my little jaunt through Combray, Paris, and Balbec thusfar.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, etc.