But a little scratchy nonetheless. Partly the continuing nonappearance of Purolator. Partly the acrostics I armed myself with last winter to while away my convalescence, which are doing a bad job of whiling away my sequestration. (The oddity of the clues and their answers. Everywhere = on all hands. Roundabout, going astray = devious. Constantly wanting more = insatiate. No cigar, guys.) And partly my loose end reading of Ellis Peters mysteries.
I know she has her kinks. In every book there must be a pair of young lovers. The he lover may vary but the she lover is a teenager of glowing beauty, utter poise, and fine insight into the nuances of social interaction, the psychology of her boyfriend, and the emotions of absolutely everybody. I do not believe people like that exist, let alone sixteen year olds. But I'm at a loose end and can't be having with doorstoppers just now. Left to my scratchy devices, I might go through the entire Brother Cadfael oeuvre except that I can't be having with reading on the tablet either. Hurts my eyes, hurts my elbows. So one more book and then... well, I have batteries now, so I might go back to Murakami.
