What to do, what to do. Nothing. Lazy mode on. Just blog. While the television is on. I don't even bother to look at what's on. The husband is playing Generals with earphones stuck in his ears. He still plays that in these times of DotA. Though he's a Need for Speed geek too. The daughter is sleeping in her room.
Lazy thoughts here. I'm looking at my dvd of Prison Break. Maybe I'll watch an episode. I need to watch Wentworth Miller. They said in PB forums that it might take a whole season before it's finally shown here in the Philippines. Eeewww! But then there's peer to peer sharing which will be very useful once PB3 is aired late September in the US. Hello torrent.
In an unrelated story, I tried downloading Joost the other day but the file was corrupted in the middle of downloading. I did not bother to continue because it said in the dialogue box that one possible reason could be a virus. So far the PC is working fine.
I'm currently reading H. Murakami's Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman - 24 short stories. Some of the stories I've gone over I find weird and gross with his standard deadpan humor. Murakami never fails to excite me. So maybe I am weird and gross too deep inside. I reread his books, there are some pages that I go back to because I want to savor his words, the way he describe emotions moves me. I am a member of the Murakami cult. One thing about him is he never explains his stories, there is no attempt to do so. Everything remains a mystery.
Page 341, The Wind-up Bird Chronicle.
Between the end of that strange summer and the approach of winter, my life went on without change. Each day would dawn without incident and end as it had begun. It rained a lot in September. October had several
warm, sweaty days. Apart from the weather, there was hardly anything to distinguish one day from the next. I worked at concentrating my attention on the real and useful. I would go to the pool almost everyday for a long swim, take walks, make myself three meals.
But even so, every now and then, I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drank, the very air I breathed, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at 4 o'clock in the morning.
How can he be so good translating emotions into words.
Anyway, while I am typing this, as usual I am multitasking. I was browsing on some cartoon sites and landed on this site. It made me laugh.
And some food for your thoughts too like this one.