The weekend went too swiftly, thanks to a little codeine. Boring story worth skipping, but today at school (in a few minutes I will mean yesterday) I was only Her Serene Highness because HSH was operating on 90 minutes of sleep. (What you get after 16 hours of sleep the day before. It should balance out, but it doesn't. Ever.) Now I'm freshly up at midnight with nothing to do but watch Mike put together a "just in case" hamitat. And read!
I've been reading Middlesex in every available spare moment because - dang - Jeffrey Eugenides is a great writer. Great. Who knew that a novel about a Greek hermaphrodite living in the Michigan suburbs of the 1950s/60s would be so accessible? But it is! It's... great! I'm not even halfway through it and I'm so upset because this is it - the man only has two novels, and I've already read the other one. Should I just keep rereading these two over and over exclusively for the rest of my life? Maybe.
I'm still working on To Your Scattered Bodies Go. I more or less like it, but it's a little dated in style, perhaps? (But not in content, and you can't say that about most 35-year-old sci-fi that ends in the year 2008.) Also, I'm not a scholar of Richard Burton, so I'm probably not getting a bunch of in-references. (In fact, everything I know about Sir pretty much comes from that movie where his wife Isabelle was played by Aunt Petunia of the Harry Potter movies, or Ms. Novacek, if you prefer.)
For once, all of the nonfiction is being neglected. I did get into Woe is I and Eats, Shoots & Leaves a bit, and liked the wit behind each, but one of them (I forget which) tried to make a case that we shouldn't use "should've," "would've," and "could've" in writing because it sounds like "should of," "would of," and "could of," which leads to other people spelling it that way. I hope I'm not alone when I put down my teacup and say, "Screw other people."
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