words, words, words

I have to start off by saying thank you to our good friend Tufo and my lovely mother in law for giving me some books that will keep my sanity in check and my busy mind occupied. I just finished reading James Patterson's new Alex Cross novel and it was just ok like every one of his novels has been for the past 5 or so years. I love the Alex Cross books but in recent years, the author has gotten lazy in his writing. It even feels as if the character has taken on the persona of the author. Back in the early 2000s, all of his books were page turners with some seriously shocking endings. Now I feel like he is mailing it in. I think this is what happens to writers who are so prolific and popular with mainstream audiences. Readers want more and so the author feels forced churn it out as quickly as possible often sacrificing quality for quickness. In this money driven, more is more society it is unfortunate that good writing gets sacrificed. Even though I still read these books, they are ...

I am still not reading anything worthwhile and its starting to annoy me. Thank you to my two sisters who gave suggestions, one of which was a little ridiculous (I'm talking about yours Anne!) but never the less, I am grateful. Part of the reason I'm not reading is lack of time. Work has been really busy the last couple of weeks and it is causing me to have very little energy left when I come home and instead of doing the right and good thing of reading a book before bed, I've been opting to stare at the TV instead which is eventually going to cause premature and permanent brain stupidity. I also think reading all of those depressing stories made me retreat into light, slapstick comedies before bed so as to avoid tossing and turning to the sounds of air raid sirens and gunfire that filled my foggy, restless sleep. Watching reruns of "Seinfeld," "Curb your Enthusiasm" and "The Big Bang Theory" is lulling me into a mindless, hazy sleep filled with...

I ask this question because if I read another bring me down, why is life even worth living, I'm too miserable to even lift my head off my pillow type of novel, I might just become a character in one of these blasted books. I guess its a widely known fact that art equals angst but does it have to be so dang depressing all the time? Is an uplifting story just too much to ask for? Obviously you know how "The Book Thief" ends and it ain't all puppies and roses I can assure you that. It honestly might be the saddest book I've ever read or maybe I say that because everything I have read recently has been particularly gloomy, and I'm at my maximum capacity for heartache(add in the fact that after my beloved Patriots lost the Superbowl, and we are just about at the breaking point.) What really did I expect from a Holocaust book? Honestly, I'll have to fall on my own sword here because I knew what I was getting in to. Actually, this isn't always true: I have ...

I have a case of the winter blues. It doesn't matter that it is 60 degrees out today - don't be fooled people, it is still winter and that nasty thing called cold is lying in wait getting ready to attack. This weather is such a tease and I'm no fool -I know that snow is still inevitable. I hate this time of year: the dreariness, the slushy sidewalks, the brown grass and barren trees and of course the lack of anything to do. I really do get depressed this time of year and now I'm sick with a bad cold which is making me extremely grumpy, not to mention lazy. I've had no energy for anything these past few days - just sleep and work thanks to heavy dosages of dayquil. My phone also up and died on me which is kind of awesome because I've never been a big fan of the cell phone but I realize in this day and age its a necessity so in that way it kind of sucks to not have one. Note to self: back up people's phone numbers next time. What a fun process it is turning o...