Why is the weather always miserable when I have to go to work and not when I'm just planning to stay home? Tomorrow will be gross, Saturday will be lovely. I really should feel the opposite way--let it snow while I'm stuck in the office, let me go for a walk on Saturday. Somehow, no. I'd love to have an excuse to stay in, be lazy, wrap, and most important write Christmas cards. I've already pared the list down to those I don't see often. If I've wished you a happy holiday verbally, chances are you're not getting a card.
Cages of Glass, Flowers of Time. A touching story of a girl who's been abandoned and abused. I read it a few times as a child, but we'll have to see how it goes as an adult. I think it may be a bit melodramatic. Still, your childhood loves can get away with a lot.
I've just finished How to Be Alone by Jonathan Franzen. People who think that acknowledging their flaws makes them into virtues kind of irritate me. People who think the things they love and care about are the only indicators of the state of humanity irritate me. I was irritated many times in this book. His articles that were researched and about specific topics--the Chicago Postal Service, the history of the tobacco industry--were very interesting and enjoyable; he's smart and he can write. At one point I got so angry at him, I was just about to give him up as a hopeless coot; he was wailing about how the demise of rotary phones signaled the end of worthwhile civilization and literature as we know it. But then he cuts away and explains how he'd written that essay in a very dark period, and goes on to explain how obsolecense really guarantees the future of Americal literature.
Mostly, I just think he's hopelessly pretentious. I'm pretty full of bitterness and judgement, but this guy is too darned much.