Le Purrrrrrrrrrging« an older post
a newer one »What are you doing?

Books and Feet and Meaning


I have 27 book reviews unwritten. The difficulty with writing them so far after the reading is that the impact of the books is lost, the emotion, the "Huh." factor. If I write a review every day until the end of the year, I still won't catch up. Looks like it'll be 3 books a day until I'm caught up. Some of them won't be easy to write, though, as I have pictures of quotes from the books, and not any digital version of the words. Not REALLY a problem, just another snag in the process.

That snag has caused me to adjust how I read and purchase books. For books that are just coming out, written by authors I know, enjoy, and look forward to reading, I'll preorder on Kindle. If I don't know about the book, and can find it at the library, I've started borrowing from the library through Libby. I really need to rein in that borrowing habit, as I'm borrowing much faster than I can read, which is causing me to read more, but at the expense of other activities. That's fine, except when I already have 8 books queued up, not including any of the books I own, and want to return them before they are due.

I'm also tending towards reading older books. I was thinking recently that I'm unsure my reading of some fiction books is really any better than someone watching a movie, in terms of individual betterment. I mean, can one truly feel morally superior because one hallucinates imaginary stories via squiggly lines deposited on a dead tree instead of having electrons shot into ones eyeballs? In both cases, the story has already been created. Yet, I find non-fiction less... less interesting. But that's kinda the point. Then I read about Ryan Holiday's tendency to read books that have been around a while, and, okay, my reading tastes shifted, and I'm reading older books. And history books. And books about human interactions and manipulations. Humans are weird. They are fascinating. They make no sense.

I can feel my feet.

Of course I can feel my feet. You (for the general "you," but perhaps not you-you) can feel your feet, too.

Differently, I'm aware of my feet.

In particular, I am aware of the bottom of my feet. I can feel the insides of my shoes, I can feel the unevenness of the ground through the the shoes. I don't know why I am aware of the bottom of my feet in a way I'm usually not unless and until someone comments on the bottom of feet, and my awareness is drawn towards them. Instead, I'm aware. The awareness is, on many levels, fascinating.

So, what does all of this mean? What is the meaning of life? Is there meaning?

Pretty sure I need to move the book reviews into their own feed. They are overwhelming the top page of my site.

Hi, Mom.

Add new comment