The real impetus behind writing this is to share that—miracles of miracles—I finished Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach! I pulled my butt out of bed at 9 a.m. this morning so as to have uninterrupted reading time and an hour later, I did it! I’m very pleased with the book, and I can definitely say Roach was worth all those years of hanging out on my TBR list. Now I want to move on to some of her newer books—Packing for Mars being the one I’ve heard the most buzz about—but feel it’s time to retreat to some good old fashioned fiction first. I had a moment a few days ago while I was reading my poem of the day (of course another Neruda number), where I felt a sudden tinge of longing for some English class-quality fiction. You know, the monster books written sometime during the 19th century, with a ridiculously complex plot you can simply disappear into. Oh, I’m out of groceries? Sorry, I was hanging out with Miss Nimblethull and her deranged brother, who are worried about losing the family farm. The Eyre Affair, my next read, should hopefully give me my literary fill while also keeping me wildly entertained (Jasper Fforde comes at the rave recommendation of a friend I sadly don’t see anymore).
Other than that, my week has been work-y and not very fun at all. I covered a fire yesterday afternoon—my first fire in which I was on the scene, awkwardly asking survivors if they were sad. Joel and I saw Tron last night with one my work friends and her fiance (hopefully new couple friends?)—a good movie, but more for my engineer than anything else. But that’s OK; I dragged him to see the journalism-inspired Morning Glory, where my Indiana Jones fantasy was shattered by a Harrison Ford who hasn’t aged as well as George Clooney (sad, sad). We tried to go out Friday night, but decided that going to bed early and submitting expenses was much more fun. Ah the joys of growing up…
Then there’s this holiday thing going on next weekend—you know, of the Christmas variety. What I’m more worried about now, though, is making sure all my stories are in this week so I can actually go home, enjoy some yuletide cheer with my family, and not feel guilty and stressed like I did during Thanksgiving. I’m happy to say I finished ALL of my Christmas shopping before this week, though I kind of cheated and did most of it online. But no matter! All that’s left is to wrap them, bake cookies for the friends for which we’re not buying gifts, and take some pictures of our townhouse to document this, our first real Christmas on our own (Clifton doesn’t count).
And so, happy reading this week! Try to snag some reading time in between all those holiday-making, and enjoy whatever time off you’ve been granted by your employer. I don’t have much of it, but I plan on using that time to its fullest.