i was sick, but now i'm better, and there's work to do.

It's hard to do all the things i need to do, when my brain is trying its best to cripple me. Or, since i'm trying to avoid the mind-body-self division...when somehow i seem to be shooting myself in the foot for much of the time.

( Yesterday i was sad, for no reason in particular. )

It will all be fine, i've decided.

rickettsiae are not your friends

I just thought i might tell you that shantaram was an amazing, interesting story, but with pages and pages of philosophical musings that did not quite get there, for me. the protagonist irritated me a bit, too. Waiting, by Ha Jin, was good, in that awkward vein that much Chinese writing seems to fall into, for me. Elements of the ridiculous so understated.

Right now i'm reading Who's Irish, by Gish Jen. It's excellent. Every story seems to end not on the resolution, or on a punchline, but on that little moment that you get when something pushes into your heart and tugs at you.

That is all. back to reading about WMD.