Reading Wednesday still chugs along slowly. Hamabe no Kafka goes nowhere fast, but now I've been reminded what's up with that librarian I take extra note of the very mundane details Murakami gives of his shirts and whatall. The proof of Murakami's mundaneity is that I don't have to look up any of his kanji, even though I began a desultory review of the basic 2000 and was distressed at how many I've forgotten in the last few years of non-reading.
Am also forging ahead with The Affair of the Mysterious Letter, reading on the tablet, and trying not to get too dizzy with it. The story would make my head spin even in paper-print. Add my cognitive handicap when reading onscreen, and we have utmost confusion, as well as a sneaking suspicion that a more intimate acquaintance with both Robert Chambers and the Lovecraftian corpus might render the book, if not more comprehensible, then at least more appreciable. I mean, it's great fun even if you don't get all the in-jokes, but I'm feeling the lack of a frame of reference here.
The current crisis leads me to having two early morning shifts in the next two days. I console myself for same with ativan which gives me, as well as sweet sleep, a lift in the spirits while waiting for sweet sleep to come, so that I forget that I must be up half an hour earlier than usual in order to do the exercises that allow me to stand up when I get out of bed. Tuesday morning, because of a dream I'd had that I was as limber as pre-65, I tried standing up without either stretches or knee brace, and it was a hallway's worth of Nope. What cheeses me is that this level of cripple only began in January, in spite of weight loss and a month's worth of good physiotherapy. Yes, prior to that knees were stiff and I was limpy on first getting out of bed, but it wasn't a case of 'can't put any weight on it at all.' Bah humbug, say I.
(OTOH, ativan sleep makes me much less crippled than after ordinary sleep. So much of it must be the muscles anc not just the joint itself.)