I had a strange wake-up call today. Firstly, Elizabeth Bowen's 'The Last September' leapt from my bookshelf onto the floor. Then her 'Collected Stories' followed suit, making a considerably louder crash. Strange, I thought. Then a few seconds later, the entire bookshelf cracked and buckled under the remaining weight, and one screw came away from the wall completely, sending the rest of my books flying on to the top of my wardrobe, on the floor, into the bin...
It is a sign, perhaps, that I need some new shelves. I don't intend to stop buying books anytime soon.
In other news, I have a job at the land of drudge - though I am enjoying it slightly more this time around. At the age of 18, I seemed to be much more angry and frustrated at the job; now I just feel a kind of resignation about the whole thing: It Is A Job. Nothing More. Think Of The Money. Well, me and Jess had fun(?) last night anyway, just arsing around as you do.
Lots of good things have happened recently, the weather has been wonderful for football and sunbathing and lemonade-drinking - but a lot of confusing things have happened too. I've concluded that spending some time away, by myself or with a couple of friends, would be a very good thing, just to sort my head out. Time to break out the tent. And the cordless drill.
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