Today

Today

I worked.
What else can I say about that?
Well, a lot. But I won't.

I basked in the finished Hemingway book
and I find that the crazygeniusbastard got me after all.
(You knew he would, didn't you?)

I paid my dues at the library.
$8.00 is the price of submerging in one book
and ignoring all others.
I've never felt quite so judged by a librarian before.
20 is clearly past the age when one can be grinned at by spectacled old matrons:
"Oh how sweet! She's a reader!"
Now I'm just a schmuck who can't bother to return things on time.

I had a dance party by myself.
And pulled a muscle in my shoulder.
By myself.

I watched The Illusionist.
Mostly because of Edward Norton. Sorry.
And I was a little bit disappointed.
It's so very promising: period piece, dramatic, good actors, magic.
But at the end of it I smiled because things turned out.
And then I frowned, because wouldn't it have been more interesting if they hadn't?
A little more suspense, a trickier plot, and 20 more minutes might have helped.
I want to watch The Prestige so I can compare.

Now I'm turning to my long-awaited Sherman Alexie (The Absolutely True Diary).
Isn't it funny that I've read 100 pages of it already? In less than 24 hours of sporadic spurts?
Darn that Hemingway.

Stay gold, everyone.