Yet another delay message is being given—I’m sitting here in the
"The writing… it’s so bad, bad not even in an interesting way!" said the prof about a writer I’ve been reading. I feel I’m becoming less and less confident about my ability of judging or the accuracy of my critical sense. Is this writer really that bad? At least his first novel is ok…? And… there is this other poet that I really hate is said to have really ‘precise’ language, to which I have nothing to say. Is it my problem?
Or, perhaps the real problem is I always think everything I feel confused or frustrated about is because of my problem—the really really deep sense of diffidence. Somehow I feel even the repeatedly delayed flights are my fault too—I should have done the reservation earlier so that I could get one of those direct flights with perfect time and price. In the morning sunshine of
