FATIGUE

Me - I love amazon. I usually, for something to do, go through and add books to my wish list.
Marina - Really? That's what you do?
Me - Yeah, I have an entire library in there.
Marina - I wish you were ready.
Me - For what?
Marina - To fly.

I did fall over laughing. She was completely serious, metaphorically, but serious. It just came out of the blue.

Books I've read so far:
1. Gates of fire by Steven Pressfield.
2. Sacre Bleu by Christopher Moore
3. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
4. Anthem by Ayn Rand
5. The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane
6. Tiger by Laurann Dohner (That's right, I like romance.)
(WARNING: I WILL BE UPDATING THIS. I WILL WASTE EVERYONE'S TIME.)
I'm reading The Vampire Armand as of now. I ordered the trilogy to Sleeping Beauty by Anne Rice. Her prose and that erotica are going to be exquisite. However, I am determined to read the entire Vampire Chronicles before I start on those because I'll be in such a fit of why can't I write so romantically that I would need to read those last. Did any of that make sense? I am dreadfully fatigued.

The other morning driving to work I thought of a scene in my head. I often times do:
"So, I've been having weird dreams lately."
Uninterested friend asks anyway, "What about?"
"Aliens. I've got to stop reading on them."
Friend gives weird look.
"Not fun facts. Geez. What would those be? Aliens live in outer space or Aliens can travel through fucking galaxies so they're obviously brighter."

That is all.