Can someone please write a brilliant novel about a group of women that ends with them living full and interesting and friend-filled lives, contentedly single? It’d be kinda like Sex and the City but with more depth; they’d talk obsessively about social justice and theology rather than fashion and boys. Celibacy in the City? I’d like to write it but I won’t, partly because I’ve read enough brilliant novels by now to know that I’m not capable of reaching anywhere near those literary heights myself, but mostly because I’m married, which I fear would take something away from the message of the book. I’ve been thinking about this idea for a while now, but reading this article earlier today revived it.
While we’re (not actually) on the subject of marriage, I really liked this post (language warning); after comparing my relationship with my husband to my ecstatic newlywed friend’s last night, it was nice to read and relate to someone else’s description of how love evolves over the post-honeymoon years.
I got an HD for my Jeremiah essay! I’m just slipping this news in the middle here so it doesn’t sound too desperately affirmation-needy, but I’m so excited I decided to share it on my blog rather than climbing onto the roof to shout it to the neighbourhood. I really didn’t believe that my
sweat and tears had earned me much more than a few whiney blog posts and a pass, so I was crazily happy to receive my result yesterday.
Every now and then I scan the tops of my CD case stacks (where my favourite albums live) and find absolutely nothing I feel like listening to, which launches me on an Ecclesiastes-style sigh-fest about how all my music has been heard before and there’s nothing new under the sun. This usually lasts until I direct my eyes to the middle and bottom of the stacks, where I find all kinds of gems I’ve managed to forget about over the years: Gorillaz! Pearl Jam! George! My embarrassing collection of So Fresh albums!
It’s the latter that recently made me ponder, because I hadn’t listened to them for at least seven years, and yet I can still sing along to (too) many of the songs without thinking twice about the lyrics. As I’m currently in the midst of exam preparation, it worries me to think of how much information I’ve discarded over the years in order to hold on to the words of songs from 2001, some of which I never even liked. How come I can’t remember anything I read about the theological themes of Isaiah last week, but can sing along and trumpet like a pro throughout She Bangs by Ricky Martin? This has led me to realise two things: 1) my brain has some seriously messed-up priorities, and 2) I should probably write my study notes to fit the tune of Britney's Oops! I Did it Again.