I've been going to bed at 8:30 or 9 all this week. My exhaustion has been brought on by regular trips to the gym, no doubt, and will lessen--I hope--as I adjust to a non-slothful lifestyle, but for now it's really playing havoc with my reading.
A brief update:
Finished David Copperfield on Monday and S. finished it on Wednesday. We're still discussing.
I'm back to reading John Connolly's The Book of Lost Things and should finish it without fail this weekend.
I've read two stories from Rick Bass's The Lives of Rocks, "The Lives of Rocks" and "Yazoo," and I can tell that I'm going to enjoy this collection mightily.
I'm reading Diana Wynne Jones's Dogsbody on the treadmill. (This is why I haven't managed to lose any weight this week--I'm still moving slow enough to read.)
I have a shipment of books coming in from the UK, but I don't expect to be ordering anything in March or April. I can't shake this feeling of saturation. I want to read what I already have on hand.
Let's see how long that feeling lasts.
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