Secondary literature claims that Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre has not sunken as far into obscurity as it should have (preferably somewhere alongside the guy Christopher Marlowe stole all HIS work from–who? exactly) because its "wonderful purpose" is that it demonstrates the limits of humanity. Goethe also wrote a poem to that effect; Grenzen der Menschheit, perhaps itself alluding to how other people feel when they try to read Wilhelm meisters Lehrjahre. After five days and five hundred pages (only 200 more to go! in one day!), I suppose I can say: secondary literature is correct and Goethe is too. The limits of my humanity have been reached and breached, and I have been reduced to a quivering pile of "Charmed"-watching goo …well, Goethe and a class at the gym called "Pump and Sculpt"–and yes, I know I am diametrically opposed to classes at the gym with stupid names, but it is New Year’s Resolution time in the gym and the fitness area is too crowded with sorority girls who have just now discovered that their pants are ill-fitting. **Memo to sorority girls: just because you can zip the jeans up doesn’t mean they fit anymore; you suck at bulimia! Try harder!** Anyway, now I am some sort of less-evolved being (though not yet retarded enough to drink water until I die for a Nintendo Wii–seriously, next time someone tells me I don’t drink enough water I’m going to remind them of this) and all I can do is read shit about some woman with a wart in her eye ("I’m not crying, this wart in my eye irritates it"–seriously, Goethe understands women, I can totally understand why he’s the German Shakespeare). That and stare in puzzlement at my surroundings, which are going through a SoCal "cold snap"–I would be outside laughing at my bundled-up cohort, but I’m too busy holed up inside reading Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre and testing the limits of my humanity (plus, hello? It’s fucking cold out there!). And reconciling myself to the fact that apparently Emergen-C has poison in it.

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