magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

I've finally gotten into the swing of my summer reading over the last week or so. Coinciding roughly with taking up drinking caffeine again, though currently only a big glass of iced Earl Grey in the morning.1 I finished Jonathan Letham's Chronic City and Will Self's Liver last week, and am nearly through Scarlet Thomas's Our Tragic Universe. Feeling that it was maybe speeding by a little too quickly, I also started The Complete Stories of Lydia Davis this afternoon. Though stylistically very different, both are very sad (and at times funny) and both make me want to write.

[Obviously there was to be something about walking across bridges in here.]