Trompé Setsuled (setsuled) wrote,
Trompé Setsuled

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Dry as chalk

Stayed up much later than I intended last night--'til well past 5am--reading a short story by Tad Williams called The Writer's Child. It's part of a collection of short stories having to do with Neil Gaiman's The Sandman written by various authors--kind of a tribute thing. What's surprising is how tremendously good all of these stories are, and many make me want to look up books written by these authors.

Despite having been awake almost until sunrise, I felt perfectly fine with awakening at 11am. I read part of the wonderfully good Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, which has thus far been a beautiful and very clever novel.

And I am now drinking Vanilla Coke from a water bottle.

To-morrow my aunt's supposed to arrive here with her cats and dogs. She shall be living here for six months, which is a good thing for several reasons, perhaps the most appealing of which is the fact that by having someone to socialise with her, my grandmother shall not take so much selfishly disdainful notice of my need for solitude in this little room.

Ack. My hands are as dry as chalk . . .
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