So what’s new? I finished reading 2666, which was marvellous, Last Evenings on Earth (which was also great, but I didn’t realize it until I was past about half of the book), Nazi Literature in the Americas (which was ok, but not all that I had hoped for), and now I’m reading The Savage Detectives. I don’t know, maybe I’m running the risk of overdosing on Bolaño. But I just can’t stop. He’s my sugar now, he’s my crack. And I’m sorry if I offend anyone by comparing literature to drugs, but hey, shouldn’t it be addictive, shouldn’t you crave it? I mean, otherwise, what’s the point?
In other news, winter has me firmly in its grip and I’m feeling all kinds of anxieties because of the weather. This Saturday, I was at a party. Probably had too much to drink and made a fool out of myself. I ended up falling asleep in the subway (which is how I’ve reconstructed it later, anyways) and waking up in some suburb on the red line, forcing me to take a taxi home at what cost I don’t even want to think about now and then waking up the day after discovering I’ve puked all over the bed and also on the floor.
Yeah, I turn 30 in about a month.
So everything’s going pretty well, except no one listens to me at work, I’m feeling like shit on account of the weather, Christmas’s coming up which gives me even more angst since the family can’t seem to agree on whether we’re giving each other stuff this year or not, and also the impending midlife crisis that comes with turning the big three zero.
I bruise too easily.
By the way, the title of this post is from Bentley Little’s short story of the same name. Poetic, doncha think?
