Monday, March 10, 2008

Under the weather

It's gray and rainy. Thanks to the timechange I woke up to darkeness. And I feel like dirt, well, a bleary-eyed and exhausted dirt.

The rain and morning-darkness I can't blame on anyone in particular.
The other stuff falls squarely on the shoulders of Michael Ondaatje.

Dear Michael. Ondaatje,
Divisadero ruined my Sunday night in the same way In the Skin of a Lion, Anil's Ghost, and The English Patient ruined Sunday nights in my past. Your books are too good.
"Just a little reading before bed." I tell myself.
Then wham, it's two in the morning and I have to force myself to sleep.


Seriously, what's up with Canadian authors? I've discovered (and re-discovered) more great poets, playwrights, and authors this year than I ever thought possible.
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