In Which Our Heroine Lags

20 April 2006

I am behind on periodicals. This is not the whole of my life right now, just kind of a symbol: two Asimov's, an Analog, one Scientific American, two New Scientists. I have been trying to read one of the Asimov's for ages now, but it's on my nightstand, and I keep falling asleep before picking it up. This is no reflection on the stories, I feel; that would be if I kept falling asleep after picking it up. Still and all, it doesn't get read any faster this way, and I hate it when everything in the mail feels like some kind of obligation rather than an opportunity. It means something is off-kilter.

But some of that will be done with soon, because my parents close on their house tomorrow. Out of limbo! Into the next phase! I keep telling the dog what a good day she's going to have, but as I am avoiding the key M-words (Mormor and Morfar), I think she doesn't believe me yet. It's sometimes hard to convince the dog of these things. She has almost as good a skeptical look as Robin does.

I gave up on an acquaintance's book today. It was...not really very interesting, is I guess the problem. If I had to read it for some reason, I could have kept going, but mostly I don't get to page 50 and think, "Blah blah, who cares?" and then keep reading and discover that I care. Usually if I don't care in the first fifty pages, the book is not for me.

I make somewhat more effort to read friends' or acquaintances' books than random strangers', but the problem with this is of course that less and less of the field is a total stranger as time goes on. And there's no sense in neglecting the book of someone I vaguely know in favor of the interesting book of someone else I vaguely know. Still and all: it feels funny, and I wish it had been otherwise.

The same factors that have me behind on my periodicals have me falling asleep on the keyboard. The week after a con is like that, usually.

Back to Novel Gazing.

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