Went to the daycare for a baby shower for one of my favourite staff who is alas taking eighteen months off. This with two other staff away with recurrent back problems and recovery from chemo. And I half wish I was able-bodied again because I like to feel needed, and half know that it would be dog to its vomit all over again so be grateful for crippledom. (I don't mind being crippled. I mind being crippled and unable to bicycle safely or walk without support, meaning I no longer have the freedom I did last year.)
Reason it's dog to its vomit is that, after fifteen months, nothing feels changed at all once I'm in the building, even though there are now umpteen protocols to be followed and more paperwork than you can imagine. There should have been a sense of time having passed at least, but no. This happened when I came back from Japan after fifteen months there since my last trip home. I felt that I'd just picked up exactly where I'd left off- except that I also felt it was still January of '95 instead of April of '96 and that the intervening fifteen months simply hadn't happened at all. Except this time I notice my socially feral reflexes: so not used to talking to people any more.
Did I finish any books this last week? Dodger, yes. And a collection of detective stories, Bodies from the Library, vol 2, that contains an unpublished Peter Wimsey story found in someone's private papers and a Margery Allingham radio play. Right now I'm reading another Campion, The Beckoning Lady, which is most peculiar-- filled with a dozen characters that are never properly introduced and all of whom are just, well, weird. There may be a reason for at least one character's weirdness since people keep asking what's wrong with her, but we haven't been told what that reason is so far.
So for sensible reading I'm rereading Thud, and a good thing too.