100 Demons feels strangely like an artifact from another lifetime ie last November when I was, evidently, someone else. Have had a small anxiety lately about whether I can still read Japanese (literally, can I read it; and psychically, will I understand it even if I do?) Yes, it seems, I can, though I'm getting resigned to the 'use it or lose it'-ness of Japanese, and the need for constant visual reinforcement to stop kanji and vocab that I've known for decades from vanishing from the memory banks. Also that certain sentences in Ima Ichiko will make no sense at all on a first, second or even third reading-- but that's a given of Ima Ichiko's.
So now I'm wondering if it's worth taking that Chinese course I had my eye on for this fall. Should I finally accept the fact that my brain is not wired for other scripts, just as it's certain that my ear is not wired to tones and pitches? (At all. At all.) And go learn French properly instead? Or stick to English for the rest of my days?
And if I stick to English, and Holmes pastiche, do I want to read a series of books about Irene Adler and her truly dreadfully wet personal Watson figure? I rather think not, but I have two of them anyway.