(no subject)
Man, everyone seems to be posting about how many amazing books they've read lately. It makes me feel quite inadequate. I posted a list of what I read in 2005 on my Diaryland blog a while back, and there were 24 books on it. 15 of those were required reading for uni, and four of the others I didn't even finish. And, to be honest, I probably only finished half of the required ones as well.
I suck ass at reading. This is quite unfortunate for a literature student. I like reading, and I love words, but I'm missing some kind of focus chip in my brain. It took me four months to read The Corrections, just because I kept forgetting I had a book on the go. And I loved it, but for weeks it kept sitting with a page folded over at the bottom of my locker at work.
I miss when I used to be able to read a novel in a day. I also miss when I used to paint and sculpt and write. I don't think I'm creative any more - the other day I pulled out a canvas and my acrylics, but the paint wouldn't go on right. I got frustrated and quit, and now I have the start of an incredibly ugly self portrait sitting on the easel in the corner of my room. Who wants to look at a hideous picture of themselves? I turned it around so it faces the wall.
Perseverance is a good thing, they say.
Anyway, I'm doing a camp at Palm Grove next week. This is the best thing to happen in months. A week of sun (I hope) and sport and crazy Kiwi games involving rotten food will be so, so grand. I'll have to go to work a couple of nights, which sucks, and so I'll be exhausted, but whatever.
Mishal's 21st tomorrow. Should be good.
I suck ass at reading. This is quite unfortunate for a literature student. I like reading, and I love words, but I'm missing some kind of focus chip in my brain. It took me four months to read The Corrections, just because I kept forgetting I had a book on the go. And I loved it, but for weeks it kept sitting with a page folded over at the bottom of my locker at work.
I miss when I used to be able to read a novel in a day. I also miss when I used to paint and sculpt and write. I don't think I'm creative any more - the other day I pulled out a canvas and my acrylics, but the paint wouldn't go on right. I got frustrated and quit, and now I have the start of an incredibly ugly self portrait sitting on the easel in the corner of my room. Who wants to look at a hideous picture of themselves? I turned it around so it faces the wall.
Perseverance is a good thing, they say.
Anyway, I'm doing a camp at Palm Grove next week. This is the best thing to happen in months. A week of sun (I hope) and sport and crazy Kiwi games involving rotten food will be so, so grand. I'll have to go to work a couple of nights, which sucks, and so I'll be exhausted, but whatever.
Mishal's 21st tomorrow. Should be good.