Waiting...

I'm remembering reading Jostein Gaarder's The Ringmaster's Daughter. The main character in it is a man who has endless ideas and restless creativity, and so makes his money out of selling his thoughts to novelists who want to write but don't know what to say. It works, and he is like a spider, spinning stories, but then he gets caught in his own web. Sometimes I feel like the spider, and then sometimes the novelists, who want to write or express something, but feel trapped with sealed mouths and dry pens. I wish the two would meet sometimes.

4 months until I am out of Cambridge.