My patooty’s been kicked by the Universe. I’ve fallen into yet another stuck-the-bed combination of head cold and flu and infections galore and I’ve grown to hate the sound a pressurized pill packet makes when you unearth it from your sweat-drenched blankets. Still.
I’ve been reading, though. Which is always a joy, even if certain episodes have me throwing an unfortunate across the room due to queasiness. Not the book’s fault–my condition the past week hasn’t always been conducive to book reading: ever had one of those moments where you’re just staring at the page, and then it starts to reverberate and pulsate, and suddenly what little lunch you had threatens to make an appearance? Yeah, that.
But I’ve been scribbling. I just broke in my new reading journal (a tiny little red Moleskine, rawr) and have been making notes like mad to accompany the ten–and counting!–books that I’ve added to my 2010 Reads list since I disappeared on y’all (I actually scheduled my post on Zoe Heller’s The Believers). So yes, have been scribbling–in my rare moments of lucidity, which basically means the hour or so after I’d taken my meds. And I typed them out, hunched over the keyboard, although there were certain times that I could swear the keys were flying like mad to escape my fingers.
Still. I’m far from well, but I can drag my body long enough from the bed to look over the blog. And lo and behold! WordPress refused to post my scheduled posts. Bah. Bah. Bah. But, anyhoo. Here they are, just for redundant kicks–and I gave them another tweaking, just to cut the digressive moans of pain and all-around inanity:
- #33 – What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, short stories by Raymond Carver.
- #34 – Mr. Cavendish, I Presume, by Julia Quinn.
- #38 – Jane Bites Back, by Michael Thomas Ford.
I’ve also read two absolutely stunning books, books that made me go ZOMG I LOVE READING, and I can’t wait to share them with you–Postcards from a Dead Girl by Kirk Farber, and After the Workshop, by John McNally. These are really really really good books. Really. They’re so good they gave me the writerly fuzzies. My companion notebook has suffered the brunt of my gushing, so I figured it’s time for the intarwebz to share the misery. [Posts will be up an hour or two after my next medication’s scheduled, hehe.]
See y’all in a bit–or not, harhar. I’m crawling into bed with a new book. I’m taking advantage of the lifting of the reading slump. I just started on Theanna Bischoff’s Cleavage (that sounds odd, haha) and it looks like a fast, satisfyingly yummy read (that sounds odd too).