So I'm just sitting in bed listening to The Boys during intervals between chapters of These Inconvenient Fireworks and I am wondering since when I've known and had the ability to successfully rap the fastest verses of the song way more than the other, normal ones (which, by the way, I do not know the lyrics of. at all.) .
Another stupid, lazy (yester)day.
Spent it reading The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night-Time and I was sufficiently disappointed despite its grand reviews.
I mean, I've read other books with "special needs" protagonists (Flowers For Algernon, Mockingbird, etc) and they were lovely, but this one was so..
I didn't like it.
Maybe I was in the wrong mood, and I think I was in the wrong mood for these kind of reads which begs for sympathy and empathy.
No, nowadays I need something fast-paced and flurried instead of static.
Something dramatic instead of the heightened observance of everyday things.
Passionate instead of passive.
And I think maybe that's why I've been feeling so empty and irked and annoyed with my life.
It is so dull and I am positively hating everything.
(Shout-out to that stupid oxymoron.)
Think dreary-moor scenes like the ones in The Secret Garden.
Or maybe it's just PMS, but that would really just be another bland, insipid cause for such extreme frustration.
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