savor the moment

My little sloth-filled minibreak continues -- I might not have even left the house today had I not gotten a call from Heather (aka dear respected madam) and Salim, who were outside my house and insisted on dragging me to the Olive Garden. I perhaps should have been embarrassed that they showed up at 1:15pm and I was still in my pajamas (and even more embarrassed that I was rocking a floral nightgown over plaid pajama bottoms with a cashmere hoodie on top), but they were gracious enough to let me get dressed before forcing me out of my house. While I was in my bedroom trying to make myself presentable, Salim independently came to the same conclusion that John has about my ceiling beams -- that the best use for them is to stash my stuff up there where I can't reach it. Sigh. If I don't want to get the stepstool out to retrieve the items, John's coming over tomorrow night, so I could hope that he rescues those items rather than adding to the mess.

Anyway, the reason I was still in my pajamas was that I woke up around ten, made some oatmeal and some tea, sat down with the book I started last night (book three, if you'll recall), and didn't move a muscle until they called. I gave the first two books to Heather, since they were good enough to recommend, and then went to the Olive Garden with them. We had a perfectly wonderful time; for some reason, Olive Garden brings out the best/worst in my friends, and we were laughing hysterically (at the exact same table that Blood of Lincoln had on our last outing there) over the most mundane of topics (what Italians ate before the New World was discovered and provided them with tomatoes and potatoes). Then, they brought my back home, and I immediately finished book three, made some more tea, took a bubble bath while starting book four, and then finished the book over the course of the rest of the afternoon. After emerging from the books, I made supper (eggs over easy and toast, mmm), wrote down all the stuff I need to get done this week, contemplated doing something productive, and instead updated my Goodreads account.

I can feel the happy thrill of an addict in my blood -- mainlining four books in two days only kickstarted my old addiction, rather than sating me. I've read some books recently, either because titles were released that I've waited ages for or because I was so loathing my own book that I desperately needed a break. But, it's been years, decades, since my youth, when I used to read a new book almost every single day. Not that I intend to get back to that point -- for one thing, reading fast doesn't exactly equal reading critically, and while I love the feel of just diving headfirst into a new world and not coming out until it's over, I've learned that the mainlining strategy doesn't lead to great recollection of the book a few weeks or months later.

So, I'm going to write in my new book/movie journal about what I just read before I go to bed -- reading is as much of an education as it is a pleasure for me, since I want to be the best writer in the history of the world but will settle for just improving however and whatever I can. But I'm going to try to incorporate more reading into my life than I have recently -- and the by product of that is that I need to start writing the next book this week, so that I can work on it steadily and read on the side, rather than procrastinating and then forcing it all out in some terrible repeat of the last cycle. Tomorrow, though, is not for writing -- it's for doing the things I should have done today, and cleaning so that I can host some supper thing that I maybe shouldn't have volunteered for, given the guest of honor's inability to reply to emails with anything more than 'heheheheheheheheheehehehe.' Goodnight!