...so little time.
yesterday, as i was bringing sam and buddy home from their annual vet checkups, i happened to hear the local talk-radio guy bemoaning the fact that now, in addition to daily papers and internet news, he's also a blog-junkie and spends hours a day reading and commenting and emailing individuals who write enormously interesting blogs.
wow, i thought. i know just how he feels.
my two days, one hour, five minutes and twenty nine seconds without the internet showed me what it must be like for a heroin addict to go cold turkey. i didn't break out in physically cold sweats, but i was close. deprived of my daily infusions of pixels from cyberspace, i felt disconnected to the point of feeling marooned on an island of Real Life.
on top of that, Real Life has been demanding more and more of me. with libby home from school, my days are not so free, even if my house - at least where its not torn apart - is getting really clean. the construction - or should i say destruction - commenced at a blitzkrieg rate: where once stood a deck, there is now nothing but air.
i have a decorating lady coming over at ten oclock to take a look at the whole mess. i hope i dont throw myself at her feet and sob. i have some tidying up to do - haha - before she gets here, but this afternoon, libby and i are going off to see an exhibit called "the pettibone ghost" in simsbury. it's about the ghost who haunts an old tavern about half way between our house and my grandmother's place. i pass it every time i go there.
the place has an interesting vibe - everytime we've tried to go there, something's stopped us - and every time i think of eating there i feel faintly sick. and yet, they say they have good food.
one of the comments i came back to asked a really interesting question that i continue to ponder even while life continues to suggest other topics. and so, ms robertson (i hope i can call you linda, please call me annie) congratulations on your first publication (do leave details next time you visit). i am pondering the answer to your question:
when you read books with magic in them, even knowing you are reading fiction, especially if they are set modern, do you ever find yourself judging it as too fantastic or too real or do you suspend disbelief and dig in?
but in the meantime, gentle readers, what do you all think?
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.