Men Seldom Make Passes at Girls Who Wear Glasses

I'm playing catch-up again.

I've had ideas for blog posts on my mind, but I haven't spaced them out properly, so there might be a deluge of Megan-thoughts. Happens every once in awhile. But, I guess, like one friend says, sub-par blogging is better than no blogging at all.

So, for those interested, here's a quick life update:

Winter Semester happened. So did finals. All is well. I'm still alive. Which is saying something. But I got through. Hallelujah.

I'm enjoying the beautiful spring weather in Provo. I forgot how beautiful springs are in Utah. The green mountains are gorgeous. And the lilacs? Be still my beating heart.

I'm interning at the Church History Library this semester. I love it. Absolutely love it. I'm sure that you'll hear me talk more about it whether you want to or not. Because it is that good.

In other news, you know you're a nerd when you watch old musicals and see yourself in the characters. Wait, I'm the only one who does this? Shocker.

ANYWAY. I was watching The Music Man (which, by the way, is a beautifully brilliant piece of Americana), and I realized:

Oh. my. goodness.

I am Marian.

This Marian. The one who tells people to be quiet in the library. The one who is no-nonsense and is disdainful towards silly women and con-men. The one who loves Chaucer, Rabelais, and Balzac.

And this Marian. The dreamer, who can never quite give up on her dreams, no matter how pragmatic she tries to be. The one who hopes for someone who will occasionally ponder what makes Shakespeare and Beethoven great.




Also, I just feel like I'd fit in well in early twentieth-century America. Votes for women, all the way.