I meant to get pretty far into Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked today (that's what the book group will be discussing Wednesday night), but I didn't even open the cover. Instead, I went to Trader Joe's, went to Ici (had two ice cream scoops: "cinnamon and dulce de leche swirl" and "candied cacao nib"), slept on the couch, did some crossword puzzles, watched "In Plain Sight," listened to Shannon read some lovely bits from Louise Erdrich's Love Medicine, and read some library books about serial killers. I'm not too worried, though, because I can start it tomorrow (though I will be spending part of the day at CLC) and I doubt I'll have a problem finishing it in that amount of time.
Watched the season finale of "Survivor" tonight and was mildly pleased with the outcome. Not overjoyed (like I was when Tom won, or when J.T. won), but not displeased. I find it amusing when people play a certain game, expect it to be a different game, don't win, and blame the game for being wrong instead of themselves for playing unwisely. That sounds to me like a tenuous grip on reality, a sort of egocentrism in the extreme. For some problem, the problem is never *them* -- it's always external. I've seen that in relationships, too.
