holiday

I could of course let this become a journal of my inner thoughts. The desperate angsty search for meaning of an early thirty-somethings white male in a world dominated by white males… a post-modern refugee who now finds he does not belong to? in? this country nor that…

I ride the same order of street names but can find nothing that is familiar. “What the heck is scrapbooking!?”

“I went into a cafe, they brought a menu, I got up and approached the counter. I ordered a glass of milk. It’s not on the menu.

After I had sat down and drank the milk I returned to the counter and told them I had no way of paying for it — just for something to do.”

In the supermarket I see they now have goats milk. That is, the milk of a goat, or multiple goats. I don’t know exactly where the apostrophe should go there. It’s three times as expensive as cow milk but who knows when the next time I’ll get to try it is? There was something on the side of the carton about it not being as harsh as cow milk or, ‘taking the edge off’.

Eventhough the last two things here mention milk they are in no way related.

I should also say that I am reading a book. I was afraid I was almost done with books. I’ve been looking around for weeks for one but book but could not find it. I was ready to give up on the whole lot of them. I still didn’t find it, but settled on Iain m. banks’ consider phlebius which is a science fiction book. Sometimes I like it like that. I’ve read about eight pages and it’s great. I’m mentioning this now because I could give up on it at any moment and then not care to write about it.

I read it last night, in bed. I got a cuppa tea and the book and went to bed then read for half an hour then fell dead-asleep, even after the tea. I had to keep reading the same sentences over again to make sure I was understanding what was going on. I read the noun words at least three times each to make sure that, in my mind, I was pronouncing them properly–because you know–if you get off to a bad start with that sort of thing it sticks and goes permanent. Like mistaking Idiran “eye-dih-rn” for “eye-rid-ee-an”. I was sitting here in the sunroom at several times this afternoon, doing nothing, thinking about the book, and the picture on its cover of a spaceship. And wondering, ‘should I read now? is that okay?’.