Month: July 2012

Reading Through The Stacks: Loyalty To Books

I’ve read 31 books this year. And started countless others. Recent complete reads have been: The Magicians – To me, this is Harry Potter on speed mixed with The Never-Ending Story. Maybe that’s just me. But it did end. And now I have to read the sequel. Damn. 13 Little Blue Envelopes – Because I too traipsed around Europe as a young person. And I have an Aunt who passed away, who kind of guides me through life. There aren’t any letters for me, though. Poems, but no letters. I even met a weirdo. These days, I much prefer the geek I’m getting married to. The Night Circus – Loved this one. Ten stars. I would say not my usual kind of book. But I’ve forgotten what my usual is. I suspect I read this at just the right time to be swept away. Seven Up– Yes, I’m still reading this series. No, I haven’t lost count. or heart. Yet. Naked – I read this because I was looking for another one of his, and I found this one. Read it cover to cover, which may not be the best way to read essays. I’ve thrown it at Sarge, but not before highlighting ones he should read. Blood, Bones and Butter– Continuing on my memoir kick, I’d been waiting AGES to read this book. A bit of armchair travel...

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A Schedule, Of Sorts

The closest thing I have to a routine these days is clicking through job adverts, and then clicking through Facebook and reading blogs before lunch.  All of this is fueled  by the zombie-coffee Sarge makes for me before he heads to work.  Depending on the mood I’m in/whether it’s a good hair day, he makes me two cups.  I finish one and take the other into the bedroom or on the couch to read.  Or I break out my green leather notebook and write.  Today, the notebook smells of oranges.  I have no idea why.  I usually write for awhile, stare at my computer files.  Then I crank up some music and do laps around the house.  Yes, really.  I might go down to Starbucks, while trying to avoid getting sucked into bookshops along the way.  I get home, write some more.  Tell at least six telemarketers that while we might need a new kitchen, we don’t own the place our kitchen is in.  Have a nice day. Sarge gets home.  I talk a lot.  He talk not so much.  We eat and watch TV.  I might watch Don’t Tell The Bride while he works on stuff for our actual wedding.  We go to bed.  I get up again.  Stare at files and then a blank screen.  Or not.  I go to bed at two or three in the...

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Not Quite Groomzilla

This just happened: Sarge:  The invitations might arrive tomorrow. Me:  Maybe, but we can’t send them out without RSVPs.  Those’ll take longer. Sarge:  Maybe, but at least they’ll be here.  We can just look at them. And that, my friends is reason number 5,8386 why I love...

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Will Do Kegels For Cheesecake

Some more maybe not-so-little known facts about me: I have a serious problem with spending money in places that don’t have accessible toilets, or  anywhere I have to move furniture to get around.  I engage Go Go (or not) Gadget Camel if the place sells books or cheesecake.  I’m weak. Current obsessions include: Yankee Candles, escapist books, my father’s incredible shrinking tumour, episodes of Roseanne (before they won the lottery) and wedding blogs. The highlight of my day yesterday was finding a bright orange mop you can throw in the wash.  I was immediately reminded of this. I need a holiday.  Obviously. I have one regret.  It is purely academic.  Really. I want to open a bookshop and hire myself to work in it. Popcorn is sacred.  And a food group. I miss the days when people went down the street without texting or taking a photo.  Just live. As I was saying, I recently took this:                         Most of my actual writing these days happens in the green notebook Dad gave me.  While listening to Fleetwood Mac.  The notebook isn’t finished yet.  I should work on that. Post inspired by the people behind 12 Books in 12 Months, Coffee and Chaos and The Terrain of Symmetry.  Because they kinda asked for it. So, what would you do...

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Space, Or Something Like it

I’m not claustrophobic or anything, but I’m beginning to think our place is too small.  It isn’t really; we just have too much junk.  I could speak only for myself, but I won’t. A few weeks ago, Sarge spent a day or two making the Reading Room look, well, like a room.  He put photos up and everything.  One of them is actually a collage, because I have a crafty cousin who does that sort of thing.  I do not. I was just happy to go into the room, do a few turns and leave without having to back out again.   I got dizzy after one too many figure-eights.  There was so much space!  No echoing, but lots of space.  Floor space, reading chair space.  And penguin space.  Jemima and Terence, together again. I promised that I would clear as much from my writing space/the kitchen table.  Lots of dead trees/books, notebooks, vitamins, train tickets, post and paperwork mean that there is a Hemingway-shaped nook at the edge of the table.  For anyone trying to keep up, we actually eat at the living room table. Now, I don’t use my wallet in the way that I should.  Money, probably more than I think, goes in the bottom of my bag.  Actually, several bags.  My wallet is for cards.  Expired cards. I went through the piles.  Again. I found some...

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