The eve of my birthday, officially jumping into the twenties. Thoughts?
None really. Excitement has remained marginal. Expectations for the future? Plans? Hopes? Fantasies?
Vague, amorphous, limited. I can't say right now I am doing much of anything, physically or mentally. There are two me's. One is social, who emerges around 6pm every day when
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Comments 5
Read Kafka on the shore next. Then Dance Dance Dance.
Oh,
happy-fucking-birthday!
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I think I'll tackle Norwegian Wood next. Any good, you think?
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I'm so glad you love him. Though I knew you would.
You fuckin doppleganger ;)
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i don't doubt that murakami is contributing to your sense of of having a split personality, instead of creating it, but for the record, those books can do that kind of damage to the most stable psyches, and i believe you are blessed enough to not be one of those poor boring souls. or, put differently: reading murakami fucks with you! it's in a good way, but it can do a number on you, and it's something to watch out for.
happy birthday, love.
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I enjoyed Slaughter House Five, although I don't put him in the same place you do. Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is fantastic; read it last summer. I finished 'One Hundred Years of Solitude' just before I came back from Edinburgh and loved it. What other Garcia Marquez is worth looking out?
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