subconscious wossnames
Am I alone in having a subconscious highly trained to keep my place in books? If I stop reading in the middle of a page and come back some time later, I'll automatically start at the line where I left off, as long as I don't actually think about it. This suggests that I might have done a lot better in general knowledge quizzes at school if I'd made a habit of answering questions on the turn, by instinct, preferably while distracting all conscious input by mentally reciting my eight times table, in French.
On an almost entirely unrelated note, although vaguely on the subject of reading (I'm now towards the end of the post-Snapely-insight Harry Potter seven-book marathon), possibly the single most annoying aspect of the wizarding world is their version of Muggle clothing. Honestly. There is absolutely no shadow of a shred of justification for that degree of ignorance about the world which surrounds them. Once again, Rowling sacrifices all logic for faintly comic effect. Pshaw.
Last Night I Dreamed: that I was working for Simon Pegg, who was running for some kind of political office. I was doing research and writing speeches, as well as co-ordinating a massive pack of ditzy blonde female campaign workers, and playing housekeeper to the rather nice house. Vague apocalypse, with chase scenes up water towers, intervened. At some point I was also working in a bookshop, agonizing about shelving kids' fiction (I ended up separating "children's" from "young adult" depending on whether or not they mentioned sex). I think my subconscious is a bit paranoid about finding a new job.
On an almost entirely unrelated note, although vaguely on the subject of reading (I'm now towards the end of the post-Snapely-insight Harry Potter seven-book marathon), possibly the single most annoying aspect of the wizarding world is their version of Muggle clothing. Honestly. There is absolutely no shadow of a shred of justification for that degree of ignorance about the world which surrounds them. Once again, Rowling sacrifices all logic for faintly comic effect. Pshaw.
Last Night I Dreamed: that I was working for Simon Pegg, who was running for some kind of political office. I was doing research and writing speeches, as well as co-ordinating a massive pack of ditzy blonde female campaign workers, and playing housekeeper to the rather nice house. Vague apocalypse, with chase scenes up water towers, intervened. At some point I was also working in a bookshop, agonizing about shelving kids' fiction (I ended up separating "children's" from "young adult" depending on whether or not they mentioned sex). I think my subconscious is a bit paranoid about finding a new job.