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The Perils of Illness

When I'm sick with a cold the only time I feel good is when I'm in the bath. You know what I mean? You fill up a warm tub, soak until you feel wrinkly and relaxed, and then you figure you've revived yourself enough to face the remainder of the day. But once you're out of the tub and dried off -- once the prospect of getting dressed hits -- bang, you feel sick again, and ready for another soak.

I hit the library this afternoon and picked up some new books: another book by Andrey Kurkov called The Case of the General's Thumb, On the Road by Kerouac (I know, how hideously 10 years too late for me), Herzog by Saul Bellow, and How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn. I haven't decided which one to crack open first.

It's a windy, temperamental day. My kitchen is a mess. My motivation is missing.

Comments (4)

i have yet to read Kerouac also.

ben:

Kerouac's "On the Road" really isn't as exciting if you're not eighteen years old; it feels tied very strongly to a particular section of one's life. I don't know. "Dharma Bums" probably stands up better.

tara:

I read On the Road about 5 years ago and I loved it. My ex was surprised I liked it so much because he thought the treatment of women was pretty appalling. That didn't really bother me though -- more than anything it's a really interesting cultural document.

ben:

You still haven't written an entry called "Elijah Wood is creepy as fuck." What's up with that?

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on May 20, 2008 5:58 PM.

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