Late yesterday, when I remembered to check the mail, I got the form letter from the mammogram center: normal! So that's a relief, right?
Except I wouldn't have been all concerned if I hadn't gone anyway. It's not like I worry about my breasts, really, any more than my knees. As long as I feel good (knees or breasts), I tend not to worry. That changes if someone starts asking me if I'm worried, or something. I'd be worried about my knees if someone said I had to get my knees tested every year now that I'm middle-aged and blah blah.
I have a student who wants to talk to me about working on a paper. She started off wanting to work on the FQ. Okay, it's been a while, but okay. Then she emailed that she thinks there's too much written about Spenser and she wants to break new ground by writing about Tasso. Erm, I wonder how her Italian is, because mine sucks. And then I wonder if she thinks scholars of Italian lit haven't been working on Tasso all these years?
So now I should be rereading book V of the FQ, and reading the paper she sent me so we can talk tomorrow.
(I actually suggested she consider Urania if she wanted something not written lots about. At least I own a copy!)
My sibling and family are coming for the fourth! And then my niece will stay, and my Mom's coming. This all means that someone needs to clean the house thoroughly. Unfortunately, that someone seems to be me.
The kitchen and main "public" rooms are now sparkling clean for a change. Oddly, I really like it when they're all clean, but I hate making them that way.