A Late Afternoon Monday Post.

Woah, I'm still tired.

It's late afternoon Monday. Sunday was *nuts* at work (I was there again on my own), and I reached home at 11pm last night *incredibly* wiped out. Slept until an embarrasing 11am.

Today I've had my mind squarely on Christmas. My immediate family will get gifts, mostly bought online. I'll tell you all about my journey into Operation Santa tomorrow. I plan on shopping for Operation Santa tomorrow, and sending all of Christmas off through the post early Wednesday. A bit of coordination and planning is required, but that's no problem. I'm a list-making machine.

It will be nice to have the gift-sending out of the way.

I'm feeling schizophrenic these days, having too many things I could focus on at any one time. If I'm knitting, I'd rather be reading. If I'm reading, I'd rather be playing music. My head is darting from one thing to another. Add caffeine to that and I'm a little brown jumping bean. There are about three weeks of emails to answer.

It has been good to read more lately. The Information was sharply written, but the ending left me scratching my head. And a little angry, to be honest. I'm all for stream-of-conscious expression. But The Information suddenly drops its carefully crafted plot and descends into dropped hints and gobbledygook. It's just not clear what *happened*. I'm a little disappointed.

Sexing the Cherry was good, a little fairy-tale-ish. I wonder if Jeanette Winterson means her writing to be an obvious comment on the sexes. Lots of good, surprisingly good, quotes that left me clutching my chest on the subway.

"A man or woman sunk in dreams that cannot be spoken, about a life they do not possess, comes suddenly to a door in the wall. They open it. Beyond the door is that life and a man or a woman to whom it is already natural. It may not be possessions they want, it may very well be the lack of them, but the secret life is suddenly revealed. This is their true home and this is their beloved.

I may be cynical when I say that very rarely is the beloved more than a shaping spirit for the lover's dreams. And perhaps such a thing is enough. To be a muse may be enough. The pain is when the dreams change, as they do, as they must. Suddenly the enchanted city fades and you are left alone again in the windy desert. As for your beloved, she didn't understand you. The truth is, you never understood yourself."

I can't lie, this pinged on the relationship I ditched in September.

Jeanette curiously echoes many of my own thoughts through her characters. Like this one:

"The Buddhists say there are 149 ways to God. I'm not looking for God, only for myself, and that is far more complicated. God has had a great deal written about Him; nothing has been written about me. God is bigger...easier to find, even in the dark. I could be anywhere, and since I can't describe myself I can't ask for help. We are alone in this quest...I have met a great many pilgrims on their way towards God and I wonder why they have chosen to look for him rather than themselves.

Perhaps I'm missing the point - perhaps whilst looking for someone else you might come across yourself unexpectedly, in a garden somewhere or on a moutain watching the rain. But they don't seem to care about who they are. Some of them have told me that the very point of searching for God is to forget about oneself, to lose oneself for ever. But it is not difficult to lose onself, or is it the ego they are talking about, the hollow, screaming cadaver that has no spirit within it?

I think that cadaver is only the ideal self run mad, and if the other life, the secret life, could be found and brought home, then a person might live in peace and have no need for God. After all, He has no need for us, being complete."

I started Stephen King's Gerald's Game (unable to find Winston Ochse's Scarecrow Gods anywhere) on the way home. It's been great to get exposed to all these different writing styles, and try to figure out how I fit in between them. If at all.

Food now. Can I tell you a secret? I *love* brussel sprouts. I like them a little bit crunchy even, steamed and then fried a little.

Going to go make some.

yum,

jules