I think it’s interesting that both Amy and I decided to wrestle with literary beasts this winter. But, oh, how the tactics have differed.
Her approach to the Russian has been steadfast and dedicated. She’s been honest in admitting her struggles, but only with very careful consideration to even the idea of abandonment. I’ve never questioned she’ll pull through.
I, on the other hand, have been flagrant about my lack of dedication to my own enrichment. John Bender to Amy’s Andrew Clark.
But last night I pulled a half-nelson on the pompy Brit. And tore through 22 boring-ass pages.
The gold belt is officially up for grabs.