Perhaps I’m a bit hyper-sensitive, but it really irks me when people sling the words “modernism” and “post-modernism” around without understanding the meanings of each literary period. Sorry to break it to you, but Virginia Woolf and James Joyce belong to the modernist period. In fact, they helped shape the modernist period. Thus, when you tell me that they belong to the post-modernist period, my left eye will start to twitch and I will suddenly lunge at your throat.

For your reference, other writers who belong to the modernist period are as follows: D.H. Lawrence, Ezra Pound, T.S. Elliot, H.D., William Butler Yeats, Gertrude Stein, Joseph Conrad, W.H. Auden, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Djuna Barnes, and so on.

Post-modern writers include, but are not limited to: Donald Barthelme, Paul Beatty, William Burroughs, All Beat Poets, Raymond Carver, Ursula K. LeGuin, Toni Morrison, Joyce Carol Oates, and so on.

In the future, please make sure that you know what you’re talking about when you refer to someone as a modernist or post-modernist writer. Not only does it make you look really stupid when you refer to Joyce or Woolf (or any other modernist) as post-modernist, but it also incurs my wrath.

I’m tired, grouchy, uninspired and I blame all of my problems on the towering crates of beanie babies shoved next to my desk. The sad thing is that I’ve already sold and mailed half of them. This beanie baby experience has made me vow that I will never collect something as excessive as my mother had done- never. Books I will make an exception for, but that’s because I’m a junkie. I like to justify my habit by telling myself that an English major should collect books and that I only keep those I like enough to reread or that are useful as references. However, any time you have to make a justification, you’re just lying to yourself.

I would now like to close this post with the following words:

Damn you Ebay!

I have a really strange post brewing in my mind for tomorrow. Yeah! Creativity returns!

Two Fridays ago, Tyler and I were given keys to our new apartment. Since then, my life has been a confused blur of boxes, beanie babies, hard to navigate spaces, fevers, more beanie babies, violent coughs and exasperating ebayers. I handed in the keys of The Apartment From Hell to my infuriating Landlord From Hell yesterday who then began ranting about how he’ll bill us if the place isn’t spotless. Sorry you jerk, that’s what the damage deposit and non-refundable cleaning deposit you didn’t bother with is for. Though don’t get me wrong, we did a general cleaning before we left- a cleaning that made the rundown place look beautiful compared to the day we moved in.

My life isn’t completely organized and put away yet; I still have a large amount of beanie babies to auction off. However, I expect I will have more time to actually update this blog from now on. That is assuming, of course, that my German class which has now started doesn’t kill me.

See? Here’s Tyler cleaning!