I read half a book last night. And another book the night before. Neither of which were worth admitting to. I figure it's like stretching before you run the race? In the near future I think I'm going to step it up a level with some John Irving. If that goes well, maybe I'll increase the weight to something literary like Camus or Sontag or Dubus III.

books.

I finished a novel last night. It's the first novel that I've read in months. I was ecstatically disappointed by the book, but the act of reading in itself felt genuinely good. Maybe I'll start reading books again. Books were, after all, my first love.

I want to be a poet like this.