Yet another book

My co-worker took a picture of me to hang on her bulletin board because I'm wearing the goofy owl sweater and she says it makes her smile every time she sees it.  I looked like a very geeky teenage boy in the photo (though in defense of the sweater, it does have a nice cut.)  (If it were a movie, Toni Collette would probably be my mother, never mind that I'm actually older, but she often plays the mother to the type of boy I resemble today.)  I need a new haircut, and I subsequently put on a little make-up.  I am also extraordinarily clumsy today.  Missed my bus because I kept knocking stuff over, and spilling things, in the kitchen.  At one point, knocked a can of coconut milk toward my head (it missed), smacked into the counter, knocked over some bottles into wine glasses (which thankfully, did not break)...all of it making quite a racket.  (Like when you are trying to be quiet, and that focus on the act makes you make more noise than you otherwise would've, if you weren't trying.)  It's a clown-moment morning.  I'll leave it at that.

Picked up a copy of 1984 at the bus stop.  One of those bus libraries.  I've started it before, but got bored, I think.  I wasn't planning on taking a book, mostly I look to see what types of books are in them.  I have a bunch I want to add to the collections and am feeling out the offerings to see where to leave them.  Anyway, gave me something to do while waiting for the next bus.

It is a bit boring starting out, I don't find anyone to sympathize with, but it picks up with the ideas of "history" continually being amended so that those are in control are seen as infallible, and so that one can no longer distinguish actual memories from fabrications, or even "when" it is.  And then there is the cloying aspect of always being observed, of always having to be on guard, of a lack of genuine feeling (of any kind.)  The only freedom being in your mind, but you'd better not trust those ideas to be spoken or written or otherwise known.  In a place where there are no laws, but the simplest act of autonomy can subject you to death.  How everything is falling apart.  I'm only on about page 38.

I need to stop starting new books before I finish the pile I'm wading through.  I've lost track of how many now.  Still, this is a good one for reading on the bus, it's very portable (Dickens is not.)

I should find somewhere to go write for a while.