When you’re 21, you’re no fun.
Somehow I managed to finish another year on this planet and turned twenty-eight today.
At some point I realized we don’t ever actually grow up — or at least I don’t — we just simply keep getting older.
People only want me for my books.
I am so done with paper books. Who needs to carry all that stuff around with you all the time, moving it with you from home to home, taking up valuable space. Some I read over and over again (the Hyperion Cantos for example), but the vast majority I’ve read once or twice and then never again, so why keep them around? If only there were a decent e-reader available. I held out some hope for the Nook but I still feel like it’s not quite there yet. (And don’t even get me started on the Kindle, sigh.)
I posted forty-four books to PaperBackSwap last night. Three were requested within ten minutes, and another thirteen through this afternoon. Apparently I have good taste. Well, that or the original Virgin New Adventures Doctor Who media tie-in books are way more valuable than I thought and I am the world’s biggest schmuck.
It turns out getting rid of my books cost a lot more all at once than I thought it would — at around $2.20 postage per book, it does add up fast — but since throwing them away is simply not an option I’m not too sad, and I am collecting credits for some new books of my own in the future. Now if only someone would hurry up and post The City & the City, I would be a very happy boy.
Falling back in.
Though in my head I do understand that it’s only sleight-of-hand, an accounting gimmick that moves an hour from spring to fall (along with that whole “summer time” thing), I simply can’t make you understand how much I enjoyed falling back this year.
All morning long I would look at the clock and say, “look! it’s not even noon yet!” After literally months of checking the clock and always seeing I’d lost more time than I thought I had, of feeling that I was always behind and could never catch up — a situation that finally compelled me to see a doctor and start a regimen of fluoxetine and lorazepam, which given my usually-crippling social phobias should give you an idea of how serious the problem was — it makes me so blissfully happy to feel ahead for a change.
I’ve been completely off the meds for more than two weeks now, and generally feel okay. The lorazepam was a big help for those times when I needed it but I didn’t care for the addiction potential, and while the fluoxetine did help level me out some I feel in general the side effects were too great for the benefit I got (perhaps another ant-depressant would work better, of course). At least now I know that it’s okay to go get help if I need it in the future.
Anyway, it’s NaNoWriMo now. I have a bunch of friends participating but it’s just not for me. Instead I’m setting out to write on this blog again. Every day for the month of November I will post … something. Whether it’s about life, or all the nifty tech stuff going on right now, or how I spent the day combing my cat, I’ll write something.
And at the end we’ll just have to see how it went.
