It’s three a.m. I must be lonely.

No, I’m not actually lonely.  I’m quoting Matchbox 20 lyrics.  Which is probably a sign of incipient mental collapse, possibly brought on by jerky overdose.

Anyway I am up to 76% on Bad Astronomy, knocked off another 15% of Goodbye, Columbus while waiting to have dinner with friends, and I’m probably 80% done with the Doonesbury anthology, which is proving to be a real strong competitor.  I’m up way too late.  Eyeballs feel like sand.  Happily I get to sleep in tomorrow.

In other news I’ve turned up two shortish books to read soon.  Normally I do enjoy long books, but when you’ve committed to reading 100 books in a year, a few short ones definitely seem like a sound strategy.  First is another Bill Bryson book, this one about Shakespeare, and the other is a YA title I found in a milk crate of books in the basement.

Can’t recall the title.  Too bushed.  Cannot cope, off to Mordor.


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