call it a writing experiment

My mom told me (again) last night that when I finish grad school, I really ought to write a collection of stories about my experiences with public transit. Over the past year and a half I've had my fair share of transit mishaps and misadventures, that's for sure, although I somehow doubt the outside world's interest in my inability to catch a train on time.

This evening I'm fresh from class and for the first time in recent memory, I've left the classroom still thinking about the course. I'm disappointed because there were avenues of discussion that we weren't able to explore and points that I wasn't able to raise. (Luckily, we have a course blog, so I'll be able to talk about those things later!) This really shouldn't be a novel experience for me--I like school, and pretty much always have. Unfortunately, library school pretty much sucks all the joy out of learning, so right now I am ecstatic about the fact that I am once again engaged by learning. Now I remember why I wanted to go to grad school--this is what it's supposed to be like. It actually makes me reconsider the idea of returning to grad school yet again for a subject masters degree. Not right away, but maybe someday.

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