Had two very literary experiences today:
While studying tonight, I got up to walk around my enormous apartment building to get a change of scenery. Even though there are about 1,000 people that live in U-Place, there is still a hallway on the third floor that no uses. I just sat on the carpet and read for about an hour. Its seclusion reminded me of The Secret Garden. When I was about to leave, I looked out the window because it was snowing, and the sky was purple from the reflected street-lights. The horizon was blurred by the reflection in the window of the cheap, white popcorn ceiling…I couldn’t tell where it started or ended.
I read a story in Alfred Hitchcock’s Stories to Read with the Lights On once about a woman who discovers a race of people living in the center of the earth. In return for the food she puts down the well, the subterranean people send her bars of gold. Of course they don’t know English, but can imperfectly learn the whole language in the span of several hours with only the use of a dictionary.
At the end of the story, the woman sends her husband down the well, and the sub-dwellers send a note back saying, “Delicious. Send more turkey.” In the process of relating this story I have discovered that my experience today isn’t really like that at all—but here goes. If I was the subterranean race, I would send for more wild berry skittles, which in the last several days I have spent a fortune on. In fact, I counted the wrappers….I have eaten 9 bags. My room is like a graveyard for purple skittle wrappers. How sad.