Saturdays make me appreciate weekdays.
On weekdays, I’m allowed to wander freely in the daylight hours. Sure, it’s winter and I spend most of my time cooped up inside, but I can go for a walk. Or to the store. Or sit and stare out the window. I only have to go to work when it’s about to get dark (in winter, that is).
I have time to wake up in the mornings. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that…okay, two things: 1) I love mornings 2) only if they are leisurely. I love the “oh look, the sun just came up and what nice fog” aspect of being on the streets at 7:30 am…but I don’t so much like the jumping in my car and speeding off to work part.
Friday-Saturday-Sunday can be, well, fairly debilitating. Fridays start off nice, with all that library time, but then comes job #2, and the whole get-off-work-at-9:30pm and come-back-at-8:00am thing. And working 9 1/2 hours on Saturday (boo-hoo, poor me). And, oh look! I get to work Sunday, too. At least Sundays are back with the books, my saving grace.
Speaking of, I AM GOING THROUGH WITHDRAWAL. It’s been, like, 4 days since I read a YA novel and I’m getting jittery. I started Can You Forgive Her? (awesomest title ever and deserving of a better adjective than ‘awesomest’) which is over 8-effing-hundred pages long. If it weren’t for the Winter Classics Challenge, I might devise some elaborate way of drawing it out in a replica of 1860s serial novels. Did they get one chapter at a time? Apparently they devoured them. I want to feel that way about this. I can’t even really seem to settle down on a book lately, let alone devour. Perhaps if I cut back on my blog reading…and called in sick to work…
I also need to give my periodic shout-out to Josephine Tey who knocks my socks off. This time with Miss Pym Disposes, which I hadn’t read since probably high school. It was the first Tey I ever read, back when I had all that undiscovered Tey-ness stretching out in front of me. Now it’s almost all been reread, but fortunately I possess the knack of almost immediately forgetting the resolution of any plot, especially a mystery or suspense. This is admittedly unfortunate when it comes to discussing books or reviewing them, but from a rereader’s standpoint it’s priceless.