I don't know why I ever thought Voltaire would be hard to get into. I'd never read any of his works before, thinking for whatever reason that they were probably way out of my league. But one recent day at work I had finished a book by somebody else entirely, got the whim to give it a shot, and figured what the hell. They must be called Classics for a reason, right?
Anyway! I have been reading Voltaire. I have been reading the crap out of some Voltaire, because it turns out after all that -- go know! -- Voltaire really was quite good at this whole 'writing' thing.
I'm back in the city, and I'm definitely reinvigorated, but I'm also quite majestically sidelined. I'd told you all that I was going to write about the whole sordid Greyhound mess when I returned from the lake, and that's still a point of interest for me, but I've just made it back home and the whole way back I've been carrying a very highbrow, highfalutin' burst of inspired madness along with me. (The Grinch got a wonderful, awful idea.)
So, my apologies, but you'll pardon me if I appear to clam up for a day or two. This is one of those times when I get myself stuck on an idea and insist on barrelling headfirst towards it with everything I've got, so you may need to be patient with me.
Boy, do I wish that I didn't have to go back to work tomorrow! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha--
Don’t Forget the Books!
9 hours ago