And now, I’m a little dumbfounded. Sitting here, trying to get a head start on my five English honors novels… the book is open, the words are laid to plain air, and I can’t wrap my head around the language.

Once there was a time when Shakespeare was music to my ears. Even though I was young and stupid and still had much to learn about Real Life, the pages of Romeo and Juliet made perfect sens to me. The structure, the syntax, the style- it was easily digested, I found it delicious.

Now I’m a bit older and not wiser. Those years of high school have filled my brain’s belly with trivial trifles, like Internet social networks and crammed biology notes and gym dances. The thirst for words has been replaced by a restlessness.

I sit here with my Othello open to the first page, and read the first lines over and over again. They don’t make sense. Ye Olde English has become a foreign language to me. The savage monsters of literature that dwelt inside me resigned a long time ago.

I close the book.