Days Go By and Still I Think Of You
So I suppose the question is: is it worth posting when nothing is happening? I waver back and forth, hence the silence followed by inconsequential posts. This week has been all about insomnia. Hours pass in the dark as I think about class and essays and writing and snacks and laundry and what I'll wear in the morning ... all to the cheerful sound of a fiddle running through my head. (Mutter, mutter.) Can't help it; some days I think it's only the constant fiddle music that's kept me going and in reasonably good spirits.
Read Fugitive Pieces
by Anne Michaels, which was often close to amazing on the sentence-by-sentence, paragraph, scene level, but seemed really off on the story level. Still, interesting. And then I read A Year in Provence
, which confirmed to me that French culture and I would likely not get along too well for very long. I'd love the bread, though. Ah, for fresh bread every day! And the wine might not be half bad, either.
Ditched In Search of Lost Time
about halfway through when I was told that I could relate the next book, The Golden Notebook
, to the book I have to do a presentation/essay on, The Second Sex
. So out went Proust in favour of Doris Lessing. And let me just say: yay for Doris Lessing. The Golden Notebook
isn't what I'm used to, not in terms of plot or structure or characters or dialogue, and yet ... I like it. I really like it. It's the first required text for this course that I just genuinely enjoy reading. Such a relief.
Also, I ate a lot of pizza. This is my life.