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Where Did This Week Go?

June 4, 2011

I haven’t been posting much lately, as there hasn’t been a whole heck of a lot going on. My Peace rose bloom faded and it looks like that’s the last of the blooms til I don’t know when. We don’t have many flowering plants in our yard really. I keep saying I prefer plants that do something compared to ones that just look pretty, but really I have little confidence in my gardening abilities, and I don’t want to kill plants that cost money (that could have gone towards some productive plants or, I don’t know…food?).

Most of the past week and a half was dedicated to various knitting projects and A LOT of reading. Probably I haven’t touched on exactly how much I read, but since I was a kid I’ve been able to lose days to books. I’ll be completely oblivious to everything around me if I have a good book. I don’t necessarily mean good the way classical literature is good, I mean good as in something utterly absorbing. I used to have a wider range of books I found interesting, and then I grew up and started living in the real world, and found that the real world sucks and I didn’t want to read more about it. So I don’t. I usually stick to the young adult’s section and fantasy because of the reason I just gave, but also because I’ve burned through every single piece of classical literature I could get my hands on. Classical literature usually discusses Real World Topics, and as stated above in case you forgot, the real world sucks.

So we went to the library several times in the past couple weeks, and I’ve read twenty-two novels. Right now I’m trying to stretch out a novel by Thomas Wharton called The Shadow of Malabron. It’s the first book in his in-progress trilogy of The Perilous Realm. I got this one thinking I could go back and get the rest of the series if I liked it, not expecting to find that I love it so much, and it turns out it isn’t finished. Darn. So now I’ll have to wait til the other two are published. I am not a patient person when it comes to books. I want all of them, now, so I can finish the story. Now. This very second.

I don’t have much left in the way of books to read. Our library is low on Terry Pratchett novels and I already read the six they had sometime last week.

Totally Trivial Complaint Of The Day: I bought a magazine from the library (cause we’re cheap and poor and they sell them) and the previous owner ripped out like ten pages of recipes before donating it to the library to sell. What kind of person rips out recipes from a FOOD magazine and then donates it for someone else to be disappointed? In that case, they should have also ripped out the pages preceding that had nothing but amazing pictures and descriptions of said recipes. WTF? I was all psyched about vanilla bean tart with spiced pears only to be disappointed by MISSING PAGES. Rrrrrr.

That’s like donating a pair of glasses without the lenses, or a car without the engine. Now it’ll have to be recycled for real because who the heck wants a food magazine that’s missing the BEST recipes? Hmm? No one, that’s who.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s completely sane post, featuring….(drum roll please!)…The Crappy Gardener’s Awesome BF’s Picture Of Another Tree! It’s pretty nifty. He’s been telling me for weeks that we need to get over to the pasture across the street so we can take a picture of the tree, but then he never gets me so we can do it.

So I got him last night and we did and now he’s happy as can be. Men are weird.



2 Comments leave one →
  1. June 4, 2011 3:29 pm

    Good to see you again! I like to read as well. I go through spurts where I read like crazy then nothing.

    The recipe ripper is just cruel.

    And you are right. Men are weird.

    • June 4, 2011 5:22 pm

      Thanks, Debbie! I felt like I was waking up from a fog yesterday, I really thought it was Tuesday, and the BF was happy to tell me that I was only three days off lol!

      I think they’ll be dubbed the Recipe Ripper from now on, thank you.

      Yes they are. The picture thing doesn’t even scratch the surface of the weirdness.

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