Reading.

I have Game of Thrones, and I've read about 60 pages of it, but it's due tomorrow, and it can't be renewed, because there are others waiting for it. I have two Nesbos, which I have set aside because I was reading Game of Thrones. I think I'll wait till summer to read it and its brethren, because I think I'll enjoy it more if I can get a run at it and then keep going. So I should start one of the Nesbos, or read some poetry or something dignified. Also, there's a pile of magazines. Sometimes there's too much to choose from. It's an absurd predicament. This is the kind of predicament that makes me feel tired of myself. Who complains about this? Me, that's who.

Anyway, tonight, we went out to fulfill the promise of my own New Year's resolution, to go to at least one reading a month. January was a wash, but there was also a lot of sickness in that month. I have written myself my own doctor's note for January. February, I've gone to two, but one of them was my own. I really enjoyed tonight's reading--I got to see the people, I fulfilled my own promise to myself, and the reading was good, some parts especially good. It made me want to write. Why did I forget this about readings? I don't know. But I'm looking forward to more of them now, if for this reason alone.