Having finished my exams, and consequentally having nothing to do, I decided to take some time out to be by myself for some time. It is so easy to become dependant on other people as a means of entertainment and in doing so lose your sense of self a little; often I find myself saying things, or doing things that after spending time alone, I realise I regret or havn't actually meant. I am a great believer in not being able to force people to do things they don't really want to do, but don't always apply these thoughts to myself; I suppose I am easily influenced, or just determined to not disappoint.

So today I took myself off to the Shipley Gallery in Gateshead, for the '70 years of Penguin Design' exhibition.

(http://www.twmuseums.org.uk/shipley/thingstoseeanddo/exhibition/70-years-of-penguin-design/)
This was a fantastic exhibition, melancholic in its highlighting of the demise of the passion and love involved in creating book lovers, but inspirational in Penguin's love for literature.

Studying English Literature is more arduous than I anticipated. The 2-3 book per week target has often made me feel a slight sense of dread or begrudgement when it comes to reading; the joy of reading is often not wholly there when constricted to a time limit, or given set tasks surrounding the book, often it becomes hard to be inspired to create your own opinions.

This exhibition has made me glad that the summer is here, so I can rekindle old loves, and read out of choice again.

Books to Read this summer:

-In Between the Sheets - Ian McEwan

-The Satanic Verses- Salman Rushdie

-Brideshead Revisited-Evenlyn Waugh

-POPism-Andy Warhol and Pat Hackett

-Mrs Dalloway-Virginia Woolf

My 'alone time' reminded me of the great poem by John Ashbery 'My Philosophy of Life' which I believe expresses the importance of taking everything as it is...'the experience of experience' (as he would call it)..enjoying and appreciating not just certain moments and thoughts, but all the inbetween things, the thought processes and trains of thought that derail us, but can often lead to more wonderful things.

Here it is:

My Philosophy of Life

Just when I thought there wasn't room enough

for another thought in my head, I had this great idea-

-call it a philosophy of life, if you will.Briefly,

it involved living the way philosophers live,

according to a set of principles. OK, but which ones?

That was the hardest part, I admit, but I had a

kind of dark foreknowledge of what it would be like.

Everything, from eating watermelon or going to the bathroom

or just standing on a subway platform, lost in thought

for a few minutes, or worrying about rain forests,

would be affected, or more precisely, inflected

by my new attitude.I wouldn't be preachy,

or worry about children and old people, except

in the general way prescribed by our clockwork universe.

Instead I'd sort of let things be what they are

while injecting them with the serum of the new moral climate

I thought I'd stumbled into, as a stranger

accidentally presses against a panel and a bookcase slides back,

revealing a winding staircase with greenish light

somewhere down below, and he automatically steps inside

and the bookcase slides shut, as is customary on such occasions.

At once a fragrance overwhelms him--not saffron, not lavender,

but something in between.He thinks of cushions, like the one

his uncle's Boston bull terrier used to lie on watching him

quizzically, pointed ear-tips folded over. And then the great rush

is on.Not a single idea emerges from it.It's enough

to disgust you with thought.But then you remember something

William James

wrote in some book of his you never read--it was fine, it had the

fineness,

the powder of life dusted over it, by chance, of course, yet

still looking

for evidence of fingerprints. Someone had handled it

even before he formulated it, though the thought was his and

his alone.It's fine, in summer, to visit the seashore.

There are lots of little trips to be made.

A grove of fledgling aspens welcomes the traveler.Nearby

are the public toilets where weary pilgrims have carved

their names and addresses, and perhaps messages as well,

messages to the world, as they sat

and thought about what they'd do after using the toilet

and washing their hands at the sink, prior to stepping out

into the open again.Had they been coaxed in by principles,

and were their words philosophy, of however crude a sort?

I confess I can move no farther along this train of thought

--something's blocking it. Something I'm

not big enough to see over.Or maybe I'm frankly scared.

What was the matter with how I acted before?

But maybe I can come up with a compromise--I'll let

things be what they are, sort of.In the autumn I'll put up jellies

and preserves, against the winter cold and futility,

and that will be a human thing, and intelligent as well.

I won't be embarrassed by my friends' dumb remarks,

or even my own, though admittedly that's the hardest part,

as when you are in a crowded theater and something you say

riles the spectator in front of you, who doesn't even like the idea

of two people near him talking together. Well he's

got to be flushed out so the hunters can have a crack at him--

this thing works both ways, you know. You can't always

be worrying about others and keeping track of yourself

at the same time.That would be abusive, and about as much fun

as attending the wedding of two people you don't know.

Still, there's a lot of fun to be had in the gaps between ideas.

That's what they're made for!Now I want you to go out there

and enjoy yourself, and yes, enjoy your philosophy of life, too.

They don't come along every day. Look out!There's a big one...

John Ashbery