The job search is so debilitating. I don't even want to talk about it.

I can't believe it's already November. My mom used to tell me that when I was older, I would wish time didn't pass so quickly, I would wish to be a kid again. Of course I didn't believe her, because I think you're never supposed to believe anything your mom tells you until you're old enough. And as with most other things she told me, she was right. However, I still get carded to buy cigarettes, so obviously I don't yet look older than 18. Sweet.

I read a great book last night: The Blue Bedspread by Raj Kamal Jha. It is sweet, and sad, and lovely, and haunting. A man spends a night writing the stories of his family for his newly orphaned, one-day-old baby niece, who sleeps on a blue bedspread, a bedspread that threads its way through his stories. They are full of circular images, phrases that repeat, quietly, here and there. If you're looking for plot, or traditional narrative, or a book that will answer all of your questions at the end, you won't find it here. You will find, instead, something heartbreaking and diffuse, but beautiful nonetheless.

I have also been reading the stories of Paul Bowles, but I'm not quite sure how I feel about them yet.

I watched Focus last night, and likewise, I'm not sure how I feel about it yet.

I think I'm getting stupid.