i started a new book saturday. already a good hundred and fifty pages in. i'll be done tomorrow, then on to my next book, either a recent one on the collapse of twitter (character limit), or murakami's latest (the city and its uncertain walls).
i always get a few books for christmas. so the time before christmas is always a bit of a race to read a few and get my to-read pile down a little. i still have dozens stacked on my dresser, including some real doorstops. i could stop buying books for a couple of years and be good. but i'm bad at that, because my friends publish books, and i buy them, and i buy other stuff that looks interesting, and suddenly i have ~20000 pages to go.
and normally i read before bed. an hour at most, and usually less, though lately, i've been having unsettling dreams — someone from my past, and not one of the good ones. twice in the last three weeks. last night i asked, "why did you [redacted]?" ("i don't want to talk about that.")
these dark winter nights, man.