I’m finally semi-vertical again after another night and half a day of flu.. (@#$# flu shot) .. I went to bed about 11.. and next thing I new it was about 11AM.. I know I had a high fever.. I’d had wicked chills for part of the night.. . and for other part I was roasting.. My mind was in one of those weird dream states that only comes with a high fever.. I kind of like it.. I had swirls of family stuff. geek project stuff , work stuff.. and stuff from the books I’ve been reading mixing in to a strange kind of opera..

I woke with the  sudden realization that the word iscessant and the word insouciant were evel twins of one another and were really the same word masquarading.. that feeling persisted until about 6 this evening when I actually sat down to wrte.. and realized that made no sense.

I managed to stay in bed until about 2.. which allowed me to read a new book cover to cover..(if that image is appropriate on an eReader).. it was ‘The Art of Racing in the Rain’  by Garth Stein.. I really enjoyed it . It a story of death, deceit. parenting and autoracing as told from the perspective and an old dog.. There were two major deaths in the story .. that kinda got me sobbing a bit.  but overall very uplifting.

Last night I finished the book ‘Tinkers’  by Paul Harding.. I liked it.. though a little less than the other.. It was also about death.. at least 2 major ones.. told from one of the dying men’s perspective.. .. and earlier in the wek I finished ‘Old Filth’  by Jane Gardam.. also about folks dying..  again told from one of the soon to be deceaseds perspectives. I quite like that book as well

What happens, though. when I dive into a book, I get maybe too involved.. Not sure how to describe this.. but these past 4 and a half years.. since Sam died I’ve had to work very hard on piecing back my sanity.. I’m not all there.. but getting there..    When I read.. I feel some of the ‘unhingedness’ taking hold and dragging me back down.. It’s the same reason I don’t watch movies or watch news or tv anymore.   I didn’t really read a book for the first 3 years.. which was a change.. I usually am always working on 2 or 3 books..   It’s strange now that I’ve started.. not sure it’s good for me.    I think I don’t have room in my head for other peoples stories.. especially if they are sad.. even a little bit sad.. And / the thing is.. I don’t read stuff that’s about happy people doing stuff.. I like reading books where  nothing happens.. to lots of people..

Should I stop reading again ?

note all, nite sam

-me