Watching, reading, listening, writing

I complained to my roommate today about all the books i am responsible for this semester. The life of an english major in his second to last semester seemed to be one measured in pages, of hours and hours committed to ink on white. I work, i frat, i have dude parties, where am i supposed to find time for something like School Work, an enemy of mine since the days of Ms. Gonzales' kindergarten class. But as i read Shakespeare's Julius Caesar for my early Billy Shakes class, my empty room gave me license to read aloud Antony's "Rhetorical Fireworks." i realized the rationalization i used to kill english made me to be an honourable man. When i read Antony's speech, it moved me, made me excited, and enriched me. I love reading. As i sit here, wilco reminds that every star is a setting sun. i love listening. I just watched Almost Famous for the first time, and i love watching. All i could think to do when these things all happened in the last few hours, i came here. I love writing. The english language is a wonderful thing, and the way it allows itself to be used by great artists is nothing short of magical. I remembered why i became an english major in the first place, because when i was 18, i wanted nothing more than to sit in some future apt on a rainy thursday, and marvel at all the pages i was allowed to read.