Herbal supplements and literature.
I heartily recommend that everyone who reads this goes out and buys a herbal supplement called "Cold Fx". Cheesy though the name is, expensive though it is, it works wonders. The difference between how I felt last night (when Brian convinced me to at least give them a try) and how I feel today is remarkable.
I've decided that I like Saturday nights at work. I got an awful lot of reading done and some writing. I still wish I could knit at work (and I still don't see why we can't... we can read books and magazines, and do puzzles... *shrugs*), but the world won't end. This gives me an excuse to go through that pile of books I bought in university, to be read 'when I have the time'. It looks like I have the time now... I'm currently working my way through EM Forster's "A Passage to India", which I'm quite enjoying. It has an unfortunate tendency of over-emphasising the themes of the story, but the prose is quite pretty and the plot is good.
If only, at some point, someone had informed Forster that the plural of 'cactus' is not 'cactuses'...
I'm also reading a book (I've decided to have an 'at work' book on the go, and a 'not at work' book on the go at all times. Mostly so that I don't forget my book at home/Brian's/wherever, and am thus stuck at work, alone and bookless, staring at a blank call screen for an entire shift) called "This Must Be the Place" (by David Bowman, I think?), which is the story of the 70s and 80s band The Talking Heads. I'm a fan of theirs, in a limited sense. Mostly, I think, I'm reading it because I'd like to expand my literary background (not the word I want, but I'm tired and still a bit fog-brained, so it'll have to do), and it was there. It's not high literature by any means, but it's very readable. Much as I'm enjoying it, though, it makes me feel like I live an unreasonably sheltered life, and that depresses me. I mean, I actually do live a sheltered life, and a part of that's intentional. Still, the book goes on about all these things that were happening at the time, both in terms of music and in terms of other art forms, and the influences Talking Heads had on other people, and how other people influenced them, and it makes me wish very much that I were one of those people who are aware of the influences around them and discover all these neat ways of seeing the world.
I'm jealous. Mostly I like who I am and the life I lead, but when I read things like that it makes me feel very dull and mundane.
And I babble when I ought to be at least making an attempt to find my way to bed. Tomorrow is filming and then work. Perhaps being well-rested is a good idea.
I've decided that I like Saturday nights at work. I got an awful lot of reading done and some writing. I still wish I could knit at work (and I still don't see why we can't... we can read books and magazines, and do puzzles... *shrugs*), but the world won't end. This gives me an excuse to go through that pile of books I bought in university, to be read 'when I have the time'. It looks like I have the time now... I'm currently working my way through EM Forster's "A Passage to India", which I'm quite enjoying. It has an unfortunate tendency of over-emphasising the themes of the story, but the prose is quite pretty and the plot is good.
If only, at some point, someone had informed Forster that the plural of 'cactus' is not 'cactuses'...
I'm also reading a book (I've decided to have an 'at work' book on the go, and a 'not at work' book on the go at all times. Mostly so that I don't forget my book at home/Brian's/wherever, and am thus stuck at work, alone and bookless, staring at a blank call screen for an entire shift) called "This Must Be the Place" (by David Bowman, I think?), which is the story of the 70s and 80s band The Talking Heads. I'm a fan of theirs, in a limited sense. Mostly, I think, I'm reading it because I'd like to expand my literary background (not the word I want, but I'm tired and still a bit fog-brained, so it'll have to do), and it was there. It's not high literature by any means, but it's very readable. Much as I'm enjoying it, though, it makes me feel like I live an unreasonably sheltered life, and that depresses me. I mean, I actually do live a sheltered life, and a part of that's intentional. Still, the book goes on about all these things that were happening at the time, both in terms of music and in terms of other art forms, and the influences Talking Heads had on other people, and how other people influenced them, and it makes me wish very much that I were one of those people who are aware of the influences around them and discover all these neat ways of seeing the world.
I'm jealous. Mostly I like who I am and the life I lead, but when I read things like that it makes me feel very dull and mundane.
And I babble when I ought to be at least making an attempt to find my way to bed. Tomorrow is filming and then work. Perhaps being well-rested is a good idea.