We've been calling it the Bosnian flu, although it has nothing in common with the stomach ailment R. came home with, but is really just a head cold that I picked up in the mountains. My eyes are weak, my teeth ache, and a box of tissues is my constant companion. I figure it's going to be another day at least before I feel like doing anything.
I returned an unfinished but overdue Waiting for the Dark, Waiting for the Light to the library yesterday. I'd been less than 60 pages from the end for a good week, but couldn't bring myself to pick it up and finish. R. bailed early from Love and Garbage last week then turned her attention to Bosnian lit and non-fiction; it's a shame that we both loved No Saints and Angels but can't read Klima's other novels.
The only thing that's held my interest is Sagala and Bagwell's just published Alias Smith and Jones: The Story of Two Pretty Good Bad Men, which was waiting for me in the mailbox when we returned home. More on that later.
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