I got home late again tonite. I love my new job, I enjoy being around my coworkers but I hate the long hours. The moment I reach home, I just crash in a sofa until my boyfriend wakes me up to go to bed. I miss my quiet reading time. In The Habit of Being, Flannery O’Connor ruminates:
I suppose I read Aristotle in college but not to know I was doing it; the same with Plato. I don’t have the kind of mind that can carry such beyond the actual reading, i.e., total non-retention has kept my education from being a burden to me. So I couldn’t make any judgment on the Summa, except to say this: I read it for about twenty minutes every night before I go to bed. If my mother were to come in during the process and say, `Turn off that light. It’s late,’ I with lifted finger and broad bland beatific expression, would reply, `On the contrary, I answer that the light, being eternal and limitless, cannot be turned off. Shut your eyes,’ or some such thing.