Return from England

Today, rather unexpectedly, a woman who had graduated from here last year and actually managed to get into a grad. school in Britain to study William Blake - currently on her official holiday from studies - decided to return for a visit to our humble college, and for whatever reason, wound up talking to me for about twenty mintues. Of course, some of her friends that she remembered from her last year here were still around, and she did manage to find and talk with them; I was merely an aquaintence that she recognized. I immediately recognized the "you-can't-go-home-again" air about her. When I worked at the factory, people would often quit half expecting the company to fold without them, only to return in a month - two months, or a year - to be dully disappointed that people were not more happy to see them or more grateful that they had returned. Nevertheless, despite the fact that she was trying to hide her vague, disoriented disillusionment, we had a talk about grad. school and the amount of work that is involved. I find it almost infinitely interesting that she has changed her major from English, and William Blake, to art history. (Should I read anything into that? Was it too hard or boring? Was she burned out? Selfishly, I wonder if this has any import for my future.)

Separately, today is Annie Dilliard's birthday. I still haven't read any of her books, but they're on the list; and while now I flip around the pages of her book, glancing here and there, I'll drive further in once I finish Forster's A Passage to India. Schoolwork takes precedence. Even now it beckons me; so - for now - back to the cellar.