What E.M. Forster Believes

(that sounds sensible to me as well):

"There is something incalculable in each of us, which may at any moment rise to the surface and destroy our normal balance. We don't know what we are like. We can't know what other people are like."

What a smarty.

Unfortunately, however, good old E.M. has been giving me problems this week. You see, I'm attempting to write a paper for Brit. Lit. that not only analyzes a theme/motif from "Passage to India," but ties said theme/motif to an idea in Forster's essay "What I Believe." It sounds simple enough, I guess, but I'm having a lot of trouble with my thesis. I think the motif I've chosen is completely fascinating and original, but it's such a huge, complex topic that it's hard to define. I wish I could explain better, but if you haven't read both the essay and the book it won't make much sense.

Suffice to say, E.M. and I aren't on speaking terms right now, despite the fact that he is quoted quite frequently in my paper.

Oh, I also worked my last training shift at the information desk tonight. I enjoy working there, and I can't wait until I get to do it alone. While it's nice to have someone there in case I have a question, I tend to like to be in control, and to to do things my way (within reason).

There goes the train. I hear it a few times a night (usually in the wee hours) when it goes through Morris. Such a wailing, lonely sound. For some reason it always makes me sad to think about trains slowly disappearing as a mode of transportation. We built the West on trains. We blazed through mountains, and destroyed beautiful wilderness, and created a livelihood with trains, and even though it was sad when they arrived, it's just as sad that they're leaving. It's as if the West is dying with them, and instead of expanding our borders, we'll now look to some other, alien form of growth. I'm not sure I even want to know what the new method will be.
Nothing gold can stay, I guess.