17 January 2003

Yuck.

I feel pretty nasty, unfortunately. It started last night in the BART station: Wendy and Daniel had dropped me off, and I got down to the bench and sat down and just felt woozy. It hasn't really gone away. I had a decent breakfast this morning, and I still feel like crap on crackers, so I don't know what it is.

We'll have a quiet night here, movies and possibly homemade pizza. I've got the usual little tasks around here, and I'll be working quietly away at the books.

I finished Howl's Moving Castle, enjoyed it throughout (and wasn't able to predict all the twists, that's good), and then read Charles de Lint's Tapping the Dream Tree, which was also fun, although I was a bit startled by the overwhelming Kelledy presence in this collection. I'm now going to read Kate Wilhelm's More Bitter Than Death from the library, one of the last Wilhelm books in the library collection. Sigh. The rush of discovering an author with a large body of work is always followed by feelings of panic that I'm getting towards the end of that large body of work. I spent most of last year relying upon Kate Wilhelm: if I needed to have a trustworthy storyteller, I could go to her, and there would be new stories to hear. And she's not dead yet, so there's still hope of more, but the supply is still much, much shorter.

Ah well. At least there's Diana Wynne Jones yet.

And I did borrow several books from Wendy and Daniel, so if there was any chance that my book pile would be diminished in the time that I feel nasty, that's now disappeared. Yay, lots of books! Yay, lots of chamomile!

Um, yay.