The Labyrinth

The Sunday blues are such a drag. Also, I have forgotten how to construct entertaining sentences. This may be a symptom of said ennui. Bear with me as I let my mediocre sentences out into the world so that I might feel productive, and therefore, less belligerent.

Just a couple of things:

I am currently poring over Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything is Illuminated, a book I have been lusting after since reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

Last night, I saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part 1) with Lem. I asked very nicely so he would agree to watch with me. Lem is a purist and believes only in the books. He remarked that Daniel Radcliffe was short, and admitted that Rupert Grint provided excellent comic relief. I was already a blubbering mess about two minutes in. It took great effort to pull myself together and actually pay attention. Lem's left sleeve was quite helpful in soaking up tears and snot. I have been feeling very sentimental towards Harry Potter lately. It must be because I've been re-reading the earlier years for a project on The Exchange, and the nostalgia is a doozie.

I am trying very hard to keep drinking cups of positivi-tea. But man, is it tough.

Later.