January 26, 2002
Sara Douglass, I am your Bitch
You will note the time. I have been reading for about six hours, and I am not exaggerating in the least. So intent was I on finishing my book tonight, and so engrossed was I within it, that I paused only to take more than the suggested dosage of Ibuprofen before settling back down under my blankets and propping the book back up.
I still have a headache.
But I finished the four hundred and ninety-eight page bitch. When I was little I used to jest that I could finish a book in a day. I can do it now, too. I just can't do anything else.
Damn, it was good.
Damn, I wish I were good.
You know, I want to grow up to be Sara Douglass and Jan Siegel and Juliet Marillier. The three women's whose brilliant fantasy epics manage to ensnare me for days. Sara's currently having kept me from working on my own.
Not that it is going to be an epic.
Far from it, actually.
Really, really far.
Like, China far.
As in, the distance from the U.S.A. to China.
Better yet, the Moon. Yeah, the Moon.
Does it bother anybody else that all the other planets in the galaxy that have satellites, theirs have names? Why is our moon just plain Moon? Wouldn't you think that's being a bit obtuse? No wonder the aliens abduct us. We're morons.
I'm gonna chew some more medication.
astera at 12:28 a.m.