grad school is indulgent

I appreciate that I'm taking a class in which we can spend two and a half hours reading "The Prelude" aloud, and only get through the first part because we're too busy digressing about sympathetic vibrations, the Sublime, Atomism and Lacan, or drawing little doodles that illustrate how, when rowing backwards, one can witness a cliff face suddenly rising up to blot out the stars. I had the revelation that I would like to make a claymation version of "The Prelude," but perhaps it's because I've been watching too much Morel Orel.