I can't think of much to write
I don't really know why I'm posting, actually. I have nothing to say, except that I'll see my mom for the first time in about seven months later this afternoon in Paris. My last Friday night here involved me doing laundry and going out for one beer in the cheapest bar in town. My friend Anne and I dug around in some old clothes to see if any were wearable that were in a box on the sidewalk and got heckled by the rowdy crowd in the kebap restaurant across the street.
As for the biking 2000km, well, that's probably out. I've been spending a lot of time saying goodbyes and getting crap ready for travelling the next month, so my riding time has been very little. Also, the weather has been on and off raining for awhile, so that doesn't help. The Camus will be done, I swear.
I recently read Ian McKewan's "Enduring Love", and despite the cheesy title it's fantastic. You could call it a study in the psychology of obsession and love, but it's more than that. I found that he fused philosophy, science and literature in the style of Huxley, but also brought to bear that ancient argument of objective vs. subjective, or reason vs. emotion. His writing is page-turning in the sense that he writes suspense very well. Not the overarching suspense of a detective novel, but the short-burst suspense of a thriller. I often would try to read as fast as I could in some scenes to get to the result of a tense moment, which is something that is difficult to find in writing. I'll maybe review this and other books better at a later date.
Off to my last class. I think I will slack off and play hangmand or something all hour, as I "can't be bothered" to teach something difficult and energy-consuming on a Saturday morning during my last class.