Entry tags:
"All We Know is What We're Told, and Most of That's Been Lies..."
Well, HACC--it's going to be a little difficult, I have to go in to-morrow morning for a standardised test or they won't let me take classes there, it's a trouble. But I hope I do all right. It's a two-hour test, and I think it's the hardest part, really, of acceptance. And then I'll be doing human bio at Polyclinic.
I finished The Winter Prince--I think I've been reading too many books lately with too much poignancy, with I cry partly with relief by the end, because the emotions are too strong and when they finally let you go you're that much lighter, and amazed--it was wonderful. And it was frightening, and saddening, and very beautiful, and crafted--it's like reading a piece of ironwork, or an inlaid tabletop, or a mosaic. Or a hope chest. Very built with hands, you know. Very made and very complex and very difficult. And of course it's not the only book, but I'm half-scared to read the rest, even though I want to know more, and I want to feel more--a little afraid to feel more, too. It's just one of those books--Cherryh's the same way. I wish I hadn't been reading it at the gym, because I couldn't cry the way I wanted to.
And it was also one, like Cherryh's, where I kept talking to the characters aloud, which is a bad thing also to do at the gym. "NO, LLEU!" I would say, and everybody would turn and go O_o?. "AHHH. NO. MEDRAUT, DON'T DO THAT...!" I was interrupting their Fox News. >_> I should read books like this at home, except that the only way I can read them is to do it at the gym, because otherwise the feeling part gets overwhelming and I have to keep stopping, constantly--when I do it at the gym my body is so tired that I don't hurt as much as otherwise I would.
This is why I'm a slow reader. (It was a wonderful book. Thank you, Manon.)
The light has been frankly gorgeous to-day. I don't think there's anything else of note to say.
I finished The Winter Prince--I think I've been reading too many books lately with too much poignancy, with I cry partly with relief by the end, because the emotions are too strong and when they finally let you go you're that much lighter, and amazed--it was wonderful. And it was frightening, and saddening, and very beautiful, and crafted--it's like reading a piece of ironwork, or an inlaid tabletop, or a mosaic. Or a hope chest. Very built with hands, you know. Very made and very complex and very difficult. And of course it's not the only book, but I'm half-scared to read the rest, even though I want to know more, and I want to feel more--a little afraid to feel more, too. It's just one of those books--Cherryh's the same way. I wish I hadn't been reading it at the gym, because I couldn't cry the way I wanted to.
And it was also one, like Cherryh's, where I kept talking to the characters aloud, which is a bad thing also to do at the gym. "NO, LLEU!" I would say, and everybody would turn and go O_o?. "AHHH. NO. MEDRAUT, DON'T DO THAT...!" I was interrupting their Fox News. >_> I should read books like this at home, except that the only way I can read them is to do it at the gym, because otherwise the feeling part gets overwhelming and I have to keep stopping, constantly--when I do it at the gym my body is so tired that I don't hurt as much as otherwise I would.
This is why I'm a slow reader. (It was a wonderful book. Thank you, Manon.)
The light has been frankly gorgeous to-day. I don't think there's anything else of note to say.