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You know, I feel like such a fraud. I haven't read anything in months. I think literacy has plasticity and I'm in a lull, nowhere near peak performance. I can't believe I'm the same person who could once knock off 200 pages in a day. I haven't read more than one page since October, I think.
And for the past few years it was nothing but short stories. Before that, a very long Updike binge (21 novels, way over 100 stories).
I'd like to return to literature. Learn how to read again. It's the schoolboy in me. I'm inspired to read a James I haven't yet. Then Conrad's Under Western Eyes, which I've wanted to read for, well, years. (And I own a fucking copy! What's wrong with me? Did I really have to watch those stupid SNL episodes?) A Flaubert. Trollop for laughs. Maybe give Woolf's heretofore unreadable The Waves another go. Take a few days to read all of Euripides. Then I'll switch it up and turn to Kafka, Becket, Borges, Nabokov for new flavors. But nothing past 1950.
(That list: the cracker patriarchy really was a bad motherfucker, wasn't he?)
Hm. The more I think of it: is this tempting or would it be tedious? I might be a little unsure.
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