Devouring Books: Coraline by Neil Gaiman

"'I don't want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted? Just like that, and it didn't mean anything. What then?'"

Before I started blogging, I had no idea who Neil Gaiman was. I had never heard of him, at all, which is ridiculous because I was aware of the movie version of Coraline, and I'd seen (most of) Dogma, which is based on a book he wrote with Terry Pratchett, and just, there are things that I should have known him from. Then, as time went on and I got to know more bloggers, they started reading Neil Gaiman books, to which at first I went 'who?' and then, as these posts kept becoming more and more frequent, 'this guy again?' Every time I left a comment, everyone replied that I would definitely love Gaiman, or that they thought I already did love him, and so, peer pressure prevailed again and Coraline I have read.

It didn't hurt that over Christmas I acquired... *quick count* 5 Gaiman books in a matter of days, so I thought, I'm going to have to read the bugger now.

So! Coraline! It was my Christmas present from the lovely Bex, and I had it near me because I thought I might read it for the minithon, so one Sunday afternoon, I read the whole thing all at once. Which didn't take long, because it's a children's book, and a short one at that, but I thought it might sound impressive... Anyway. Even though all of those things are true, I also don't think I would have wanted to read it in more than one sitting because OH MY GOD the horror. The horror.* And I am an extensive Stephen King reader, just to remind you.

I guess Coraline isn't out and out horrifying so much as very very creepy, but I'd imagine it's the kind of story that would have given me nightmares as a child. Coraline (in case you don't know) is the story of a girl on her summer holidays, bored out of her mind and fairly unindulged by her parents, or her slightly strange neighbours. One day she decides to explore a door-to-nowhere in her house, which now goes to somewhere, and she goes through and meets her other mother and other father, who are exactly the same as her real parents except that they have buttons for eyes and want her to stay with them forever and ever and ever... as long as she consents to having buttons for eyes too. Coraline doesn't really fancy that, and goes back to her real home, and that's when her troubles really begin.

I can't even tell you how freaky the buttons-for-eyes things seems to me, but it's not nearly as freaky as some of the other stuff in the book that I won't spoil for you. It was kind of amazing to me that the things that I found really creepy were things that Coraline just kind of shrugged at and then kept on going through, but I also thought that was really realistic- children are so much more resilient about weird things than grown ups are, and actually, in general, are so much more resilient.

Damn, I miss being a child...

Anyway! What really really struck me when I was reading Coraline, was how completely classic it felt. Which is not to say that it felt old- but just that it could almost have been written at any time, and that it will endure for a really long time (if this actually happens, I called it first). I found this especially exciting because it also felt really original, so it's classic-ness didn't come from it reminding me of other things, just that in its details and execution and everything, it felt enduring and simple and lovely. But also creepy. Never forget the creepy.

So. I don't know if this one book means I can call myself a Gaiman convert, but it does at least mean that I can breathe easy knowing that the other 4 Gaiman books I've got waiting for me are probably going to be alright. I just can't breathe easy thinking about the Other Mother and all the horrors that come with her world...

*I've actually just realised that I had a dream that was ostensibly about my nan, but also I think took some inspiration from Coraline. I won't bore you with the details because I know other people's dreams=SNORE, but woah. No wonder it was freaky...

Devouring Books: I Capture The Castle by Dodie Smith

"But words are very inadequate- anyway, my words are."

I Capture the Castle is a book that I truly believe every teenager should read, which is weird because I didn't even know about it until I was 20. Actually, if I'm honest, I should be making Frances write this review instead of me, because I completely think of it as her book- the first I ever heard of it was her casually dropping it into conversation (as in, 'something something, like in I Capture the Castle'. Me: 'I do what with the who now?') and from there it only took watching a tiny bit of the film to convince me that I needed to read the book. And, honestly, I loooooved it. 

So, in the spirit of reading comforting things, I decided to pick this up and hope it was as lovely as I remembered it being. And it really is lovely- I know that reading a teenager's diary sounds like the least compelling thing ever, but Cassandra Mortmain isn't a regular teenager, her family is not a regular family, and her diary is not at all like a diary. Really, the diary thing is an excuse for making Cassandra the narrator, but at the same time, it's a way of making the reader understand that this story isn't necessarily the definitive version of what's happening, but rather it is Cassandra's definitive view of it. 

All of this means that we have to love Cassandra or the book won't really work, and maaaan, do I love Cassandra. She's not perfect at all, nor would she describe herself as perfect, but she is a perfectly drawn character, and you can absolutely imagine being her friend, sitting with her in her castle, hanging out and talking about all sorts of stuff. Oh yeah, that titular castle? Totally an actual castle. The Mortmains aren't a rich family, but they're the kind of family who used to be well-off, and are still considered to be that, but also sort of aren't. Kind of like one of the families in a Jane Austen novel, who have to rely on the kindness of strangers/distant family relations to get them through the year. 

Like those well-to-do families, nobody in the castle actually works. Well, to be more specific, Mortmain (Cassandra's father) tries to work, but more often than not comes up short- he's an author of some notoriety who published one terrible sounding book ages ago (he's compared to James Joyce at one point, and I think we all know how I feel about modernism* so basically I would never want to read his book) but has run up against writer's block. Topaz is Cassandra's stepmother, a former artist's model who sometimes communes with nature all naked and whatnot, she has a sister, Rose, who just wants a simple life of stunning luxury, and, of course, the delicious Stephen, who is the sweetest, and looks like a Greek God, and is so in love with Cassandra, and I WOULD SO MARRY HIM but he kind of doesn't do anything for her. Which is a shame.

But anyway- they all live in the castle and get along as best they can, sort of believing that nothing interesting will ever happen to them until it does and that's basically the whole of the book. I don't really know how much I can get away with telling you about the story without ruining the whole thing for you, mainly because I really didn't know much about it going into it at all, which made the experience of reading it all the sweeter. If I was going to compare it to something, I guess it would be sort of an English A Tree Grows In Brooklyn (which I really must re-read) or, at least, Cassandra reminds me of an English Francie, probably mainly just in that I love them both so much. 

Basically, in a nutshell, some non-spoilery things that go on in this book: first loves and what that's like, poverty and the boredom and often solitude that goes with it, dealing with being loved but not loving in return, and loving and not being loved in return, art and the way it makes life meaningful, religion and the way it makes life meaningful, the perils of getting everything that you want, the perils of someone else getting everything that you didn't know you wanted, and the perils of dressing up like a bear to escape embarrassment.** It basically contains everything you'd ever need a novel to have and more.

So yeah. I guess technically this counts as a YA novel, and I know Cassandra would have been my number one role model if I'd read this when I was younger than she is in this book*** (seventeen), but even without that factor, I still really and truly adore this book. To me, it feels instantly relatable, is so funny and witty and then thoughtful and (sometimes) sad, and just has everything you could want from a book. I don't even have to tell you to go and read it now, do I?

*Actually, do we? I feel terrible about it. It makes me think of The Emperor's New Clothes, basically, in that 'well, just because you don't understand it, doesn't mean that it's bad' way, except that I kind of think... If I don't understand it, and if nobody understands it, doesn't that sort of make it bad? 

**Actually happens. 

***It's too weird to have a role model that's younger than you, right?

Devouring Stephen King: The Plant

"How foolish it is to write, what a pitiful bulwark against the world's hard realities and bitter home truths. How terrible to say 'This is all I have.'"

I've been working my way through Stephen King's complete works for nearly 3 years now (I know. I know) and I'm about 2/3 of the way through. I'm not trying to say this to impress you (although, that is a total of 43 books so far, so BE IMPRESSED) but to try and show you how ridiculous it is that I read The Plant. This book actually didn't make it onto my original list because Wikipedia told me that it was unfinished (which is true) and so I figured it could be skipped and forgot about it. THEN my internet friend who is also reading All The King (because we're cool like that) asked if I was going to read The Plant or Dreamcatcher next.

And, because I have really unfond memories of Dreamcatcher (I can't be specific about it, because I don't really remember much about it, but I do remember that I hate it) I grasped at any opportunity to put off reading it whilst still moving forward with the King thing.

So, The Plant. Wikipedia was correct about it being unfinished, but there's still a fair bit to read and it has quite a few merits that I think make it worth a read. It was originally published on Stephen King's website, in six separate instalments, where people were asked to pay $1 per part via the honour system (the whole thing can now be downloaded for free on Stephen King's website here) but was never finished, possibly because King said he'd stop writing it if the amount of paying customers fell below 75% (which they did) or possibly for some other reason I can't even be bothered to make up right now. Maybe bunnies.*

ANYWAY. The Plant. It's an epistolatory start-of-a-novel** set in New York City- a place I'm not convinced King is very fond of based on previous experience and this book especially. A small publishing company that's failing has gotten on the wrong side of an INSANE cult member/terrible writer, and for his revenge he sends a plant (THE Plant) that has all kinds of powers that are pretty complicated. To wit- the plant actually does good things for you, UNTIL certain things happen to it, when it turns on you pretty fast/possibly eats you (the story, as it is so far, ends before the plant turns bad, which was obviously going to happen, so I can't really tell you exactly what it does. But I'm sure it was nasty.)

If I'm honest, The Plant takes a long time to get going, which is especially frustrating when you know there isn't that much of it. Probably the first three instalments aren't that great (although, each section does have a cliffhanger at the end of it, as all serial novels should) or at least aren't very action filled or thrilling. But, to be fair, that's not something I would have noticed if there had been more story, or it at least wouldn't annoy me so much.

The second half, though, is where things really pick up, and there are so many things hinted at and just begging to be developed that it makes me want to go over to Maine and shake King a tiny bit and make him WRITE THE REST. DO IT NOW. The end of the sixth part is especially intriguing because there's a big shift in... things, and I can think of a few different ways it could go from that point, all of them good and one of them especially interesting. Basically I'm writing the rest of the story in my head because I can't really leave it where it is. Too too much to think about.

The Plant is free, takes only a few to read, and is much better than I remember Dreamcatcher being. It's obviously the only choice if you're reading all of his stuff and you don't want to read Dreamcatcher, but I think it's also worth your time and attention even if not. Unless you're someone who CAN'T leave a book unfinished (because this will drive you crazy), it's an interesting, fairly scary tale of ambition and botany and publishing that you can carry in your brain and attempt to continue in your own time. 

Or we can all do that thing where we harass Stephen King in Maine/on twitter. You decide which.

*I got basically alllll this information from Wikipedia. Just covering my arse here, plagiarism-wise. 

**Half-novel? I don't know how long the whole thing would have been...

Sunday Sundries: Life is Hard

Heeeeeey guys. I'm trying to think of ways to make this post NOT the internet equivalent of when something bad happens to Ross in Friends and he greets everyone all depressedly, but I'm having a hard time not doing that.*

I'm trying to think of anything positive I can take away from the week, but really it's only been about one thing, and that was my nan's funeral. I knew it was going to be so much harder having it three weeks after she died, because I feel like I was just sort of getting used to not crying every day, and BAM, I'm right back into the sad stuff.

The only thing getting me through things right now is having my family right there with me. I'm actually still staying at my parents' at the moment because the idea of cooking for myself and generally looking after myself seems kind of overwhelming at the moment (it's probably less bad/dramatic than that sounds...) but also mainly because I don't quite know how to be around people who aren't going through what I'm going through, and, more importantly, who didn't know or love my nan the way I knew and loved her.

I mean, I know that's something I'm going to have to get over in life, but just for right now, it's how I feel.

So that's where I'm at right now, give or take extreme tiredness levels and also general hermitness. I've been reading some when I can be bothered, or when I'm not staring at the TV, but what I'm reading is Dreamcatcher by Stephen King, which isn't quite as bad as I remember it being, but I still sort of haaaate it. Why am I doing it to myself, I hear you ask? Well, much as I hate it, I'm so attached to Stephen King that even the worst of his books feels sort of comforting? It's kind of like when your parents do something you hate, but you still love them and like being with them, I think. Or I've just turned into a masochist.

I also watched the Megs recommended Ceremony last night, and it was actually pretty great. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what it was, and that was kind of awesome. I might review it if I can gather up the energy, but if not, just know that it's good and it's on Netflix (US) and I give you permission to watch it.

Aaaaand, that's kind of it. Everything's just a tiny bit too much for me at the moment, I guess, but I'm just going to keep going and try and make things better and just generally think of things I enjoy and do them and see what happens. Please please please tell me your happy life things because DAMN I need to believe good things still happen in the world.

P.S. I was watching United States of Tara this week (because, if all else fails, watch things you know you like) and there was this one scene that I felt so perfectly reflected my internal feelings that I actually started crying and smiling all at once. It was insane, but perfect. Enjoy!

*Also I'm having a hard time finding that gif, if it exists, so that's annoying.

Devouring Books: after the quake by Haruki Murakami

I don't want anyone to be alarmed by what I'm about to say, but... I really liked this book.

I know. The very idea that I would like something written by Haruki Murakami is just ridiculous to me, too, but there it is. Madness.

SO. after the quake (sic) is a set of 6 short stories, all featuring the Kobe earthquake of 1995 in some shape or form, which is generally with a quick mention, rather than it being the whole centre of the story. Except, because this is Murakami, it probably actually is at the centre of the story only in a subtle way, only I didn't get it because I just like to read Murakami without thinking too closely about what it all means.

Which is definitely a good thing since one of the stories is about a giant frog trying to save Tokyo from a giant worm who makes earthquakes.

What I found most interesting about these stories was how well Murakami's writing translated to the shorter form. He has written shorter books than The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, like Sputnik Sweetheart, which is only around 200 pages long, but these were 20 page stories, yet they still packed a pretty good Murakami punch* and I was impressed at his ability to reign in the weirdness when necessary. There are still a lot of the themes he deals with in general in after the quake, (loneliness, disappearing women, giant frogs..?) but they're definitely pared down and possibly more digestible to someone who might find Murakami hard to digest?**

Maybe what I liked most about after the quake was the fact that, even though each story is self-contained and a story in it's own right, there are tiny tiny hints in each of story that suggest that there are connections between at least a few of them, and maybe all of them. It's not a case of characters from one story showing up in the next (in other words, there isn't a Jennifer Egan thing going on) but small details that then come up later on in a larger way (e.g. in All God's Children Can Dance, the main character is referred to as Super Frog, and then there actually IS a super frog in Super-Frog Saves Tokyo.) It's the absolute kind of thing that rubs me up the right way***, basically, and I might be overimpressed by such things, but SO BE IT. I like it.

To conclude: I was never going to not like this, because MURAKAMI DID YOU KNOW I LIKE HIM? I LIKE HIM A LOT! But I would say that it probably exceeded my expectations when I discovered it was short stories because I couldn't really see Murakami's style translating so well to the shorter form. But it did, and I rejoiced, and I finished a Murakami book in about 2 hours which is ridiculous and will probably never happen again, but there you are. Hey, did you know I like Murakami?

Oh. Right. Well, ok then.

*A Murakami punch probably involves ears. Or cats.
**You probably shouldn't be eating Murakami. Or his books. Just a thought.
***OOER

Devouring Books: The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

"Maybe even if we're not so glad to be here, it's our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn't touch."

What is this nonsense? My first book review of the year? My first book review for about a zillion years? (or, like, 3 weeks?) Will wonders never cease?!

Seriously, though- I'm not sure I'm back to full reviewing capacity yet (whether I'm ever at full reviewing capacity, whatever that is, is up for debate anyway, I'm sure) but what else am I supposed to do with my evenings other than try to write things? Actually do stuff? Don't be stupid.

And anyway, I want to talk about The Goldfinch, because this book knocked my socks off. It really did. I started reading it on Christmas Eve, I think, or that's at least when I first got really into it, I read little bits of it in between hospital visits, and then didn't pick it up again until the weekend after my nan's death, when I just couldn't take any more internet, or games on my phone. It will therefore go down in my personal history as the book that gave me back some concentration, and for that I will be forever grateful.

But actual information about the actual book: The Goldfinch is set across America, and across the teens and early twenties of Theodore Decker, our narrator and subject and kind of our everything as far as this book is concerned. The book opens with a detailed, terrible, beautiful, descriptive load of pages* about the morning of his mother's death, and all of those factors continue throughout the entire book, and it's amazing. Plenty of difficult subjects are covered, and every one of them feels real, and thought out, and not forced or feeling like they're there as issues-for-the-sake-of-issues. It's pretty great.

As well as the issues, there are also a lot of thoughts about art, and life, and love, and all those enormous things that really good fiction covers without even having to try too hard, and The Goldfinch feels like it doesn't even have to try at all. These things are so seamlessly rolled into the story that, as you're rushing through it, you don't even think about them much at all, but afterwards, or in the back of you're mind, you're thinking about the effects of grief on people, about how love can be difficult under certain circumstances, about art and how it keeps us going- and honestly, this book helped keep me going.

I'm still not sure how I feel about the ending (let's discuss, those of us who have read The Goldfinch, that means you, Alice) but I know that I loved this book a crazy amount, that it is easily my favourite of Donna Tartt's books (and I loved her other two, as well) and that you should probably definitely read it because it's kind of a masterpiece.

*ah, haven't you missed my precision and excellence?

Three

I love blog birthdays. Blog birthdays are a big deal to me because they represent that time, however many years ago, that you decided to take a big leap and share parts of your brain with the entire internet. In a way, it's a bigger deal to me than my actual birthday, because that's just the day I came into the world, and... didn't really do much else (this is especially true for me because I was born at 11:58pm) whereas my blog birthday is the day I made something myself and, you know, did a thing.

The fact that I would probably have forgotten when it was if I didn't have a little calendar record in my sidebar is neither here nor there.

So, yes. Three years ago today, I took a leap into the unknown, writing valiantly about how terrible Season 5 of Brothers and Sisters was (SO terrible. And still no one has acknowledged that particular post) and it continues to be one of the best things I've ever done. I always say this, and I know it's probably really boring at this point, but when I started this three years ago, I could never have foreseen all the friends I'd make and all the amazing (and hilarious) discussions we'd have, and I definitely never ever even considered that it would translate to real life activities with real life friends, but it has and it's wonderful.

And so. Even though I don't really feel like celebrating anything right now, and even though it's been weeks since I've posted a review of anything, and even though I didn't even bake my blog a birthday present (which I do. It's a thing.) I still want to acknowledge this date because this is a pretty special place for me to come to and write things down and communicate with all you lovely people. I haven't even thanked you for all your lovely comments on my post about my nan, but I really really appreciated them and I just thought, how wonderful- that people I haven't met in person (mostly...) care about what happens to me and are there to console me when things are horrible and celebrate with me when things are good. It makes me feel like I'm doing pretty ok at life, to be honest.

So thank you. For being here, and for being you and for being awesome. Basically.

It's Nearly Mini-Readathon Time!

Gird your loins, people of the internet, it's (nearly) time for another mini-readathon. What this means is, a bunch of us read tiny stories (which we'll get to in a minute) for a shorter amount of time than 24 hours (or I could have just said 'for 8 hours') and, most importantly, depending on who you ask, we have mini-snacks. ALL THE TINY THINGS.

So, what's really important here, as at all points of life, are the food and the books. First, the books:

The Short Stories/Essays

The Short Books

The Book That Involves a teenager that I sort of want to read the most so it counts as mini for that reason alone.

I think the photo evidence alone is enough justification for why all of these are mini, so I'm not going to do the usual justifying thing, mainly because I hath picked too many books and can't be bothered to explain all of them. I actually honestly don't really know what I'm going to read, and actually might spend the whole 8 hours re-reading I Capture the Castle, and if I did do that, I would consider this whole thing a complete success.

I've gone through this whole post without mentioning the most important fact- I'm illllllll. Like, seriously, I've basically just got a cough and a cold, but a really annoying one that won't go away and it's not like I haven't been resting, oh, all week, so yeah. This doesn't really mean anything when we're on the internet together except that I might fall asleep at, say, 9pm (unlikely) but rest assured that, if we were in the same room together, you would throw me out for complaining and also coughing loudly. 

Since you're meant to feed a cold (apparently), and also because readathons are all about the food*, here are all the snacks I have:

Apparently all my Christmas chocolate was mini, and for that foresight, I thank my family. This is clearly all sugar, and I'm not going to eat it all (she says) and also I might go for a walk in a little bit to see if I can find any other mini snacks. I also might not- I really do feel like shit.

But anyway! I have chocolate, I have books, now I just have to wait for an hour and a half to do something with them. *twiddles thumbs, has a look at what's on Netflix, the usual*

P.S. You can totally still mini-readathon if you want to. Sign up post is here, or, you know, just read and update and whatnot. Or just read! Reading's great.

MINI-READATHON UPDATE- The Midway One
It's been four hours ALREADY? And here I am feeling like we only just got started. RIGHT

I mean... Update time! I have read things and also read internet things and it has been awesome and (AND!) I have unblocked precisely one ear (almost) which has been a weird and unwelcome cold side effect, so I'm pleased to have some normal hearing back

Anyway. I started off by reading some Nora Ephron essays (sad moment: these were written in the 70s, and in one of them it's like 'oh, we probably won't have a woman Vice President in '72, but there's always '76!' and I'm like NO GODDAMIT AMERICA) for probably about an hour, then moved onto After the Quake by Murakami, which happened to be both short AND short stories AND I finished it and so I am joyous. Or, you know, I'm cool. It's my first Murakami for aaaaages though, and I could tell I'd been reading it when I thought 'it's so weird how we use all of our senses all the time except for taste...' and had to tell myself to shut up.

Murakami: he makes you think some weird thinks.

STATS
Pages read: 195
Books read from: 2
Books finished: 1
Snacks consumed: Basically all of the snacks. And I had dinner. I'm bad.
Naps: Nah, I'm good.

UPDATE AT THE END
Oh, guys. Whoops! Would you like a complete rundown of my activities since I wrote that last update? There is very little reading and very much non-reading... Here's the deal- after I wrote my update, I went round everyone else's updates (like a polite blogger) and commented, THEN it was time to watch this TV programme I like, but I came straight back upstairs after it WHERE I READ (I know) some of I Capture the Castle (still fab) but got distracted by all these old photos my mum got out for me to look at this morning and that I knew would go away without me looking at them if I didn't look at them, you know, now, so I did. And now it's now (there were a LOT of photos). I'm not going to lie, there was a teeny bit of crying, but, you know, my nan was my literally my favourite person when I was tiny (not that she isn't now... just that I have other favourites too) so there are a lot of photos of me and her being adorable, and yeah. Sadface, but also happyface, but also cryingface.

But anyway. The point is WE DID IT (sort of) and AREN'T WE FAB (yes) and no I didn't nearly make myself sick on too many mini-snacks (I really did. I ate loads and was fine but THEN I drank water and was like NOPE). Yay minithon! Yay Tika!** Yay internet!

Finalement- I am totes too tired to be on the internet right now, but I will be visiting all your posts come morning and leaving obviously the best comments you've ever had (I know you don't believe me because of that paragraph above. But whatever, shut up!)

STATS
Pages Read: 244
Books Read From: 3
Books Finished: 1
Snacks consumed: See above, re: feeling sick
Naps: One giant one coming up, I hope!

*For most people. Not so much for me, I think because I usually don't really eat while I'm reading because, you know, reading is consumption enough (see what I did there?)
**I don't mean to un-yay everyone else, but Tika was our gracious host, you know?

Sunday Sundries: The Worst Kind of News

Oh, internet. Everything in my tiny corner of the world has changed so much since I last wrote something here, and I don't even know how to process it yet, really. On New Years Eve, my darling nan passed away and my heart is broken.

It would be pretty redundant of me to try and explain just how much I love her, or in what ways, because which words can you use to sum up the impact of a person who has always been there for you, or the depth of the loss when you realise, over and over again, that she isn't going to be there anymore. For anything. Ever. I will carry her in my heart for always, and sometimes that feels like a wonderful gift but mostly it just doesn't feel like enough because I want her here, and I want to hug her, and I want so many things that I just can't have anymore. 

It's been a rough week or so. 

Right now I'm not really living in the present so much as the past and the future at the same time. This can make my brain feel a little complicated, sure, but it's difficult to stop remembering (there are a lot of memories) and it's difficult to stop thinking about things that are coming that are going to be so difficult and, you know, grief.

I don't really have the stamina to add much more right now, but here are a couple of things I've discovered this week:

• I'm pretty sure that the internet and especially social media were invented purely for the grieving. I've spent so much time reading blog posts (without having the energy to comment) and flicking between twitter and instagram and facebook and tumblr this week that it's ridiculous, but it keeps me occupied without taxing my brain too much.
• But the downside: when your nan dies on New Years Eve, everyone's wrap up of the year posts and resolution posts and ESPECIALLY Happy New Year posts will not be easy to take en masse. I still kind of want to slap anyone who wishes me a Happy New Year, even though it's not their fault, obviously.*
• It's really really difficult to read when you're stuck somewhere between the past and the future and barely have enough energy to watch TV all day. I'm hoping to get that skill back, and soon, though.

And that's about all I've got for now. I didn't want to leave you hanging, but I also didn't want to labour the point here, really. There's some important sofa sitting and TV staring to be done, you know?

*And seriously, if you did this to me on twitter or on the comments of my last post, then please don't think I hate you! I just... hate the situation. You know.