December 20th, 2009


(no subject)

In the 'two countries divided by a common language' dep't, I learn from myriad entries on FFLs (and my own) that Americans 'call out' when they're not going to make it to work. Canadians 'call in'. Because it's the weekend I did neither, of course. Instead I stayed at home almost all of yesterday, as I'm supposed to, and felt vile, as I do when I stay home-- weak, ear-achey, and inclined to burst into tears over things like my 1998 line-a-day daybook.

So today I took half an ativan because it's supposed to help virus-caused balance problems, though it may help by making you not *care* that you've got virus-caused balance problems, or care much about anything, in fact; got on my trusty iron horse and pedalled happily in mild sunshine (above freezing) over to Bloor and Brunswick. And bought books, which is exactly what I need, of course. But everything at BMV looked so fascinating, I was hard put to get away with a mere $40. Knowing that the attractiveness might be just the ativan speaking, I read a few pages of each OMG wonderful! find, and so passed up on Donald Richie's novel about the life of Atsumori's killer, Mr Darcy's Decision, the fictionalized account of the real-life Chinese Imperial princess who spied for the Japanese in WW2, and a book of essays by Natsume Soseki which read as floaty-ungraspable as Japanese theorizing always does read to me in English. I should try it in Japanese and see if it reads better there, but my guess is not. I've heard that the Japanese, like the French, prefer to wander about a point rather than actually come to it, an approach that makes me scream whenever the French do it.
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