I have decided. I have finally made up mind. I really don't have to write in my daily journal every day without fail - it's just not possible! I mean its too much of a restraint and a binding on me and too much to ask of my withered creative powers (supposing just for the heck of it that I had them at one time). I do realize that I am a rather difficult person to deal with and an impossible one to live with, so my daily tirades, my repetitive complaining and moaning about things that aren't ever going to change bored me a little too and I got involved in other things - such as reading. In the last few weeks I have read quite a few books let's see - Joseph Conrad's The Heart of Darkness, Jostein Garrder's The Solitaire Mystery, Umberto Eco's The Prague Cemetery, E.M.Forster's Where Angels Fear to Tread, Tea'Obrecht's The Tiger's Wife, D.H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover, Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking, and a few more that I can't remember the names of at this instant. I feel books take me away from this world that I am inhabiting into another reality and spectrum - I cease to be who I am and become fused and submerged with the story, the words, the characters. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad one, and I actually don't quite care. Musti has been having his finals and they end tomorrow and thank God for that, because whoever has tried teaching a 13 year old would know what a feat of courage and patience it is and I am going to be a free woman from now on.
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