Literature is good for you, kids.

Figured I'd share our book list. You know the English novels I've been raving about lately? Here they are:

"Things Fall Apart" by Chinua Achebe
"The Color Purple" by Alice Walker
"Angela's Ashes" by Frank McCourt
"A Farewell to Arms" by Ernest Hemingway
"My Place" by Sally Morgan
"About a Boy" by Nick Hornby
"The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie" by Muriel Spark
"Death of a Salesman" by Arthur Miller
"Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit" by Jeanette Winterson
"The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald


They are all great works of literature. I can seriously say I enjoyed reading all of them. Some have become favorites.
If you are looking for some good classics, pick one of these.
If you have read some of these books, I would love to hear what you thought.

Boom!

I've been having the feeling for a while now that I'm about to fail everything. That everything will crumble around me and I will be considered a failure in other people's eyes because I can't do anything right.
The thing is though that I don't care. I don't mind. If I'd fail everything, it would just be... unfortunate, you know? But it wouldn't kill me.

I've been through enough to be able to seperate small things from big things. Failing everything would be a big thing, sure. But I just can't bring myself to being worried, or feeling miserable. I've felt miserable enough for all the bloody small things in the past, things that now wouldn't even touch me in the back, but I guess my priorities were fucked up then. I won't feel bad about anything now. So failing is not such a big deal.

I don't seriously believe I'll fail everything. It's just how I feel, but I know it won't actually happen. Even if a part of me might wish that it would - it would kind of be an opportunity to start fresh - I'm pretty sure it won't happen. If it does, I'll let you know.
I'm just feeling weird. Everything smells and tastes weird. I don't really know where to go, because I don't know where I want to go.

Other aspects of my life are great right now. I'm having the greatest time getting to know lovely people. It has always been the most important thing to me.
So it's tiring. Feeling two opposite things at the same time. I think it's restlessness. As always, I'm just waiting for that big thing that will change my life.

Everything.

I was at the local bookstore today, and spotted a huge book containing flight photos of New York. The price was very reasonable - though I would have been ready to pay pretty much for a book like that since I consider the New York skyline to be one of the most amazing views in the world - so I went over to the register to pay. It was the man who owes the shop who was behind the counter. His name is Daniel, he's had the bookstore for years, since I was little. He has an Irish wolfhound, the dog usually hangs around the shop but not today.
Daniel thought that I'd picked a great book and immediately started browsing through it, trying to find pictures of the Twin Towers. He told me that the book had photos of both before and after 9/11. He asked me if I'd ever been to New York. I told him I had, last summer. He said he had never been anywhere near New York, but he knew where it was.
We discussed the city and what it is that makes it so appealing. We even discussed migration laws and work permits.
He couldn't find the photos of the Twin Towers, but when I came home I looked through the book. There is even a picture of the actual plane crash into one of the buildings.

I guess Jane has rubbed off on me. I love it when you can strike up a conversation with a stranger, or someone you haven't really spoken to before even though it's someone you've seen around all your life.

Daniel asked me: "So what does New York have that Kristianstad doesn't?"

The answer is: Everything.

So very nice.

We were discussing the ten English novels we're reading at uni this morning. My friend really disliked Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms, while I quite liked it. I was saying that I had liked all of the novels we've read so far, stating that I am obviously a "book whore".
And then comes Peter saying: "You're at least half of it."

Ha ha. (Notice how much I meant that. And yes, that is sarcasm.)
And that comes from a 40-year-old.

I can make a sound that no one makes, but you won't listen.

Friday night we interviewed The Hollywood Kills for Chucow Radio. We had so much fun we ended up talking for two hours. Great, great guys - if you have a chance you should definitely go see them playing a show.
A roughly edited interview (obviously we couldn't have all of two hours in a show) is in the new episode of Chucow. You know where the link is.

What else is new? I've realized how much literature reading I have to do in the coming week, I'm slightly breaking down. I can't read for too long without falling asleep. So this'll be a hard one, but it'll be managed. Or I'll flunk, so what choice do I have really. 'Tis life.

Driving home after staying up all night talking to Nashvillers about chocolate and politics with a New Zealand accent, is not the best idea. (They do the best friggin Murray-impersonations, you know the guy from Flight of the Conchords. It's hilarious.)

I have to go do something else now. I don't think I can cope staring at more words without losing it like Jean.