Lately the phrase "a tragedy of broken teacups" has been stuck in my head. Indeed, it exists as one of the most quoted description of the genre of Realism, which my blog also takes its name from. A faithful representation of commonplace things.
Frank Norris was the one to pen those famous words in his essay The Responsibilities of the Novelist.
The last thing I want to think about tonight are commonplace things.
The daily grind, the very ideals of Realism to me lately are so tiresome. I cling to literature that gets as far from real life as possible, everything from J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan in the light of day to enjoyably guilty forays into Laurel K. Hamilton's Merry Gentry series curled up in bed. I have little funny or engaging to say tonight. I hope mostly to send my words into the void in the hopes that maybe when I've gotten them out of myself I'll be able to get some sleep. I've got a melancholy big enough for the Romantics.
The simple fact of the matter is that daily life currently has some difficulties. The Stinky Man Thing is deployed. My dogs both are reaching the end of their lives. My neighbors are desperately tempting me to hang my head out the window and yell exceptionally untoward things at their midnight revelry. Yet day to day life draws on apace, and although I do not want to play anymore, my wants have very little to do with what will or won't happen. I get enough of the tragedy of broken teacups during the day. I'll have no more exacting attention to what is. At least not in the books I read or write about.
Tonight I'll take my rumbly tumbly to make Rice Krispies Treats and eat them while they are still warm. I'll go to bed way too late to be happy in class tomorrow but have a breakfast of the leftovers waiting for me. Peanut butter slathered Rice Krispies and a Monster caffeine bomb and I'll be running fast and long on the breakfast of champions.
And as Alfred, Lord Tennyson once wrote:
"Tho' much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
