Please shut down

Atonement wasn't exactly a mind fuck, but it sure took a good night's sleep to recover from the awesomeness of it all. It was a bad idea to pick up a book after turning off the DVD, because even though the text was good, all that run through my mind were 13-year-old Briony's cold eyes scanning a not-so-harmless note, Cecilia recovering a piece of porcelain from the fountain, and Robbie swaggering confidently down the road. Aaargh. I should stop wondering why I can't sleep earlier than I should. Stop!

So anyway, while I was out with morethanfiction and dramashit (yay, finally! I missed you guys) today, I finally bought a dilapidated copy of The Hours and finished it in maybe five hours. It's strange how beautiful, depressing books are so easy to digest:

We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep--it's as simple and ordinary as that...There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more.

Earlier today I heard the trailer of a primetime talk show announce, "find out why a one-legged man is now a famous surfer." Oh, wow. I think I already know, and I'm not even brilliant. Way to go, scriptwriter.

Oh, and happy easter! I logged on a chatroom to find a kid teaching another kid about Jesus and the evilness of Henry VIII. I haven't chatted in a long time, so it was kind of strange walking in and seeing a religious debate going on when, during the heat of my addiction to chat, all we could talk about were books and TV shows.

I think I want a chocolate egg.



[mood| Blabbering]