I am sore at heart, for these last days have brought back memories of times now past and men who have left us for good. And so I took the long way back to my quarters, to walk my sadness from me a little, and to remember those times again, a little...
That's Hisui being Wen Zhong-ish: not precisely lying, but cutting the truth to serviceable measure. However I too have been walking a lot today, for semi-similar reasons. Convalescence is *tedious* and spring is depressing and all the world news is bad and stuff still hurts enough to give the first three the feel of Armageddon. I hope I never have surgery severe enough to require bed rest in hospital, because I'd fast become suicidal; and I'm gloomily sure that some day I will.
The library was selling off some hardcover Pratchetts which I bought for a loonie apiece. One was Nightwatch, which I've wanted for a while, or thought I wanted, except that what I wanted turns out to be Men at Arms. Which I'll find somewhere, eventually. I continue to plow through Jung, discovering why I never got anywhere with Jung twenty-five years ago, and Aubrey/ Maturin, which I should probably save as a vocabulary corrector for when I want to write un20th century English and can't remember how it goes. No matter. There's a lot more A/M where that came from.
I should try to write, because writing is like exercise and you get out of the way of it. OTOH writing stories that don't come is the most desolating thing I can think of, so probably best just to keep on with the uninspired reading. That's only mildly depressing, and at least allows one to add to the list of Books Read.
Two more weeks and then I can return to my sweet babies. Roll on the 7th of May.