another weekend of chicken soup
0 for 2 on the weekend. the idea of swimming a 500 with lungs still teeming w/Yellow Chunk was too ugly to contemplate seriously, and racing a 5K brick on saturday was a pipe dream anyway; so i devolved into my 7-year old self and spent my weekend in bed with diana gabaldon's Outlander. total chick-dom, and i couldn't put it down.
the copy i read was the library's, the 1991 first edition -- subsequent editions and sequels have veered away from the original romance-y covers -- and it sported thick, substantial pages with edges worn soft by involuntary fingers. such a transport: if i couldn't be myself this weekend, it was just as good being someone else, esp someone getting drilled to ecclesiastic heights every chapter.
p'raps now it's safe(r) to go to scotland, since a pubs & restaurants smoking ban went into effect yesterday. can the sick man of europe claw his way back to health?
2 comments:
Everyone seems to be suffering at the moment. Well, try this, hot whiskey, tablespoon of honey, 4/5 cloves. Mix well and drink and then get back in to bed. It is vile but it does wonders.
Hope you feel better soon.
well now ya tell me, FMC -- sure i'm here at work with no honey or cloves to be found.
i shall wait 'til laters. many thanks.
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