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o l d-----n e w-----l a s t-----n e x t-----m e-----y o u-----m a i l-----n o t e s-----r i n g s-----

happy talk, keep talking happy talk

31/01/02 @ 7:18 p.m.

Though my diary doesn’t represent it very well, I’m actually fairly good at enthusiasm, and today I could represent it at the Emotion Olympics and come home a national hero with a few medals around my neck. The reason my frown turned upside-down is embarrassingly run-of-the-mill for most people: I read a book!
Unless you’re on the inbred-hicks ring, you’ll not be impressed by that, but since my health took a sharp downturn seven years ago I’ve not been able to concentrate well enough to read novels. It’s one of the things I missed most passionately when I first realised the depths of the relapse, and I’ve tried every so often to read again, only to be frustrated. In the last six years, I’ve only read half of Rose Madder by Steven King. That’s not very much.
But staying with Laura has brought a nice surprise. Although we both fall asleep between two and four in the morning, she sleeps for longer than me, so I’ve had to find ways to kill time before she wakes up, and again at nights when she phones Sarah. Her ISP is free only after 6pm, and she’s only got one phone line, so my time-killing has had to be of the non-internet variety. On the bookshelf in the spare room I saw a copy of The Time Machine by H.G. Wells, saw how thin it was, saw how tiny the chapters were, and decided if I took it in small doses it’d only be like reading a magazine article. I managed it, it was a corker, and he’s a great writer, and today I bought The War of the Worlds, which will mean not only another Wells book to read, but more ammunition to slag off Independence Day. That makes me happy, it won’t last, and tomorrow I’ll be moaning about not being able to read any more, but for now I’m very smiley indeed.

b o o k m a r k s-----r u d i e s-----u p d a t e s-----m y--i l l n e s s -----m o v i e--r e v i e w s

Content and layout © Yawner, 2001. Hosted by Diaryland. Best viewed with IE5, probably pants with Netscape.


o l d-----n e w-----l a s t-----n e x t-----m e-----y o u-----m a i l-----n o t e s-----r i n g s-----







happy talk, keep talking happy talk
31/01/02 @ 7:18 p.m.
Though my diary doesn’t represent it very well, I’m actually fairly good at enthusiasm, and today I could represent it at the Emotion Olympics and come home a national hero with a few medals around my neck. The reason my frown turned upside-down is embarrassingly run-of-the-mill for most people: I read a book! Unless you’re on the inbred-hicks ring, you’ll not be impressed by that, but since my health took a sharp downturn seven years ago I’ve not been able to concentrate well enough to read novels. It’s one of the things I missed most passionately when I first realised the depths of the relapse, and I’ve tried every so often to read again, only to be frustrated. In the last six years, I’ve only read half of Rose Madder by Steven King. That’s not very much. But staying with Laura has brought a nice surprise. Although we both fall asleep between two and four in the morning, she sleeps for longer than me, so I’ve had to find ways to kill time before she wakes up, and again at nights when she phones Sarah. Her ISP is free only after 6pm, and she’s only got one phone line, so my time-killing has had to be of the non-internet variety. On the bookshelf in the spare room I saw a copy of The Time Machine by H.G. Wells, saw how thin it was, saw how tiny the chapters were, and decided if I took it in small doses it’d only be like reading a magazine article. I managed it, it was a corker, and he’s a great writer, and today I bought The War of the Worlds, which will mean not only another Wells book to read, but more ammunition to slag off Independence Day. That makes me happy, it won’t last, and tomorrow I’ll be moaning about not being able to read any more, but for now I’m very smiley indeed.
	b o o k m a r k s-----r u d i e s-----u p d a t e s-----m y--i l l n e s s -----m o v i e--r e v i e w s







	Content and layout © Yawner, 2001. Hosted by Diaryland. Best viewed with IE5, probably pants with Netscape.