#38

Well, I didn't have anything interesting to say this morning, I guess. Not to this blog, anyway. I said a bunch of interesting things to the people I interacted with throughout the day. That's how I live.

Nothing interesting to tell you, blog, except that my whim led me to J.R.R. Tolkien's translation of Beowulf (including many accompanying materials of great interest to me), and not whatever I said I would read yesterday. I already forgot, and regret nothing. When I'm reading a book, my focus is complete. I have an idea of the next one, even the next few, usually, but nothing is ever guaranteed. I follow my gut. When it comes to reading, the appetite is always correct. Now I believe I will read The Monsters and The Critics, also by Tolkien.  

I would say that J.R.R. Tolkien is my favorite writer, but that would not even remotely begin to cover the situation here. Just...don't even dream of fucking stepping to me. I'll eat your hot guts on a Sunday morning. I'll burn your name from the histories and the registers of names, and I will bury you broken and unmarked in a grave of pure salt. 

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I wish I weren't on the computer this late. I love computers, but they're totally bad for you. Sucks shit. Part of me also hates computers, hates them to hell. It is a complex relationship, as are the bulk of relationships.

I closed a kitchen tonight, and tomorrow I will get up to open it again, and then I will work until it is time for me to close it, and then I will wake up to open it once more. Then I'll rest.

I'm thinkin' day off tomorrow from the ole bloggo, but who knows? I don't know anything.


--JL