Yesterday was a lazy day. I went to the library to renew some books, and while doing so, set off the alarm at the door and pissed off the guy working there.
I am now 100% sure that I am officially sick. Really does seem like a physical manifestation of all the garbage happening in my life. Stress and whatnot. I want to sleep all day and stay in bed.
But I can't. Today I am working from 10-7. Boo. That is a long-ass day. At least I have pizza dough for dinner made already.
And another thing...I need to apologize for something. I cannot read Henry Miller. I try. I TRIED last night. But the book I renewed : Opus Pistorum was seriously...only about sex. Literally. I read ten or so pages, giving it a chance. Then I began flipping randomly through pages, trying to see if there was a single one where he didn't mention his John Thursday or some woman's figlet, or his balls or WHAT EVER.
Couldn't do it.
I mean YEAH it was good writing. Very descriptive. But I don't really need to read about all that hoo-hah. Not that I am against it. Just not my cup of tea (or anything else really gross).
On the other hand, I finished A Moveable Feast. I couldn't believe that Hemingway was capable of being funny. I really liked that book. His description of Scott Fitzgerald cracked me up.
Any other Hemingway suggestions are appreciated.
Well, off I go to try and get some of this mucus out my self.
You SO wanted to know that, didn't you?!?