Sobriquet 47.27

As far as Sundays go, today was a fairly decent one (ignoring for the moment the Bengals' rather abysmal performance). I did get some reading done for the dissertation, finally cracking open my copy of Coetzee's White Writing and reading his essay on the Farm Novel and Plaasroman. Though I would like to write a bit more than this, it's nearing one in the morning and I'm hoping to read a bit of a novel I'm preparing to teach this week before bed, so I am going to call it a night and sign off.

For tomorrow: More of the same.