Finally read "A Good Man is Hard to Find" by Flannery O'Connor this morning and it was not what I was expecting. I guess I thought it would be about a woman looking for man? Maybe an old maid lamenting the lack of good beaus in town. So the ending was a bit of a surprise, to say the least. Not sure how I feel about it.
I heard a good piece of advice the other day. When considering a work of art you should ask yourself these three questions:
1) What was the artist trying to achieve?
2) Did they achieve it?
3) And was it worth doing?
(Supposedly these questions originate from Goethe in terms of the theater.)
The thing is, I have no idea what O'Connor was trying to achieve in that story, but I think that's more a reflection of me than anything. Ever have one of those mornings where you wake up feeling stupid? Maybe I'll blame this interminable sinus infection. Or maybe Netflix has finally rotted my brain.
It snowed a few inches last night. The air feels dryer than ever, and we've all been suffering these last few weeks because of it. My dog has scratched herself raw in places, and I've had a parched throat for days (no matter how much water I drink). It's since developed into a soar throat and sinus infection.
I blew my nose this morning and the tissue filled up with blood. Then my father told me I would never be able to blow my nose again, because now I would get a bloody nose every time. Or at least, that's been his experience. Apparently, he blows just one nostril now...
Writing Streak: 0 days
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