I would really really appreciate it if meter readers and parcel delivery folks would knock or ring the doorbell before sticking that "while you were out" note through the letterbox. Because I always pick up the note just too late to open the door to chase down the lazy sod.
Yesterday I made the whole day without crying once. \o/ I was guilty this morning of staying in bed until the flatmate had left so I'd have less reason to today, mind. Hmmmm. In physical health news - I'm not feverish or homunculising or anything other than leaking steadily out of my nose and sneezing semi-regularly, which is also a good sign.
Lots of people have made New Year's resolutions - I don't make them as a whole because I think self-improvement should be a year round thing, but I have noticed a worrying tendency recently in that I appear to have stopped reading. Not on the tube, not in bed, nothing. I have books on the go, but I'm not picking them up.
I'm like you (probably) - I was brought up around books. Stories are my life. I always have books. I love books. So me not reading - it's new and weird and I don't like it. I have lots of books I've started and not finished. I have lots of books on my to-read pile, I have even more books that I intend to hunt down and read, and yet, I'm not.
I'm hoping it's a general state-of-the-brat thing. A symptom of stress and depression that's made my brain shake down a little. Because now when people talk about books around me, I start getting anxious. Now I know I should read (damn, I like the two books I'm reading now: Robinson Crusoe and Captain Johnson) but the very thought of reading is becoming a chore in my mind - something I have to do and [ohgod] therefore something I don't want to do.
Vicious circle. Resolving to do it makes me freak out. Talking about books I should read now makes me anxious
I hate this. Hate it.