Hi, hi! I'm still here. Things are okay. The week was emotionally and spiritually challenging with lots of soul-searching, but I am more than less okay.
Thursday was the Kermit Place Readers discussion of The Brothers Karamazov. Huzzah. We are done. It was not the most popular book we have ever read, and, indeed, several KPReaders were similarly disconcerted by all the hysteria, but the majority of us liked it. And all of us were, to some degree or other, pleased we had read it.
So, on to The Fellowship of the Ring. I am only three discs from the end, which is fairly fast going. I ripped the discs and put them on my iPhone so if I can't sleep, I listen to that for awhile. Although I utterly understand why Lord of the Rings is important in popular culture, I am ready for a break. Meandering through the Mary Stewart (This Rough Magic) and actually grabbed Neil Young's autobiography,Waging Heavy Peace, off of the library shelf.
This is not really telling you much. I am slightly dazed and a bit down, but much better than I was earlier in the week. Being back in Brooklyn is always emotional in one way or another. I staid late in town in order to take a walk in Prospect Park with John yesterday and what should have been a 90 minute drive was twice as long as I did not get out before traffic. However, I DID get in a walk, and that seemed more important.
Before I left on Thursday, I finished the tomato sauce and even made some rosemary-garlic infused olive oil, something I have been wanting to try for quite a while. Although olive oil and bread is off of my current eating regime, I did sample to excellent effect.
On and on.
I could barely keep my eyes open last night. M and I watched the final episode of Silk, which we greatly enjoyed. I went to bed at 10, but didn't sleep well, despite my exhaustion, waking up every two hours or so. That made today quite challenging. So, I am about to head for that horizontal space and I will ensure that sleep happens by augmenting with medication. Fortunately, I did not entertain the dementors when I awoke and was able, after a time, to doze again.
And all I actually have to offer as a writer, is my version of life. — Anne Lamott
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