All over the short entry world (twitter, facebook) the notes are about attempting new exercise programs and word count minimums and getting back to work. The trend is so universal there has to be a name for this, the first workday after the long break. I tried to name it on twitter, but eh.
Back In the Saddle Day.
All this determination makes me want to stay in bed all day just to prove I'm not a lemming. No sheep here! But I'm outta bed because I have too much to do because I took a vacation all week long while everyone was on vacation. baaaaaa
First I have to decide why I was so annoyed by the genteely depressing Olive Kitteridge. So this will sort of be an SBD, if I figure it out.
Updated because I figured out why the book gave me the pip. I nearly always correctly predicted what would happen (or had happened) in the stories and the news was never was good. Never. The wrong people fell in love. The car went off the road in the middle of the night. The son and mother couldn't meet half way. Pfah on the instincts of a depressive, particularly when they're proved right. Dreary does not equal literature, although, okay, maybe showing a new face to the basic underlying sadness of Existence might. maybe, kinda. Was there a new face? I suppose I ought to look again and see if there are any gorgeous moments. The writing was good, but lots of writing is good, even in fluffy books.
I did like the structure of a lot of short stories with Olive as a connection and I grew fond of Olive. But still, is it Art? You tell me.
I'm going to celebrate Self-Discipline Day by writing a blog entry for another blog. And maybe I'll wrestle my oldest to the ground and cut his hair.