A Cloud Atlas & Internal Fog

No more posts about being sick, because I feel much better today. Rejoice! OK, this post has elements of talking about having BEEN sick, but it's a different attitude, I swear...

I had a pretty quiet weekend, not venturing out of the house much but enough to stave off the Cabin Fever. Knitting with the Sydney Sity Klickers on Saturday afternoon at cafe Barmuda, brunch with Evan & Mikey on Sunday late morning, and then a couple of hours of knitting at The Courthouse Hotel (made all the more exciting my a torrential downpour!) with Bex and Martin.

In between those was plenty of nappage, and some reading of Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. Which I am loving so far. And can I just say, my judgement may be coloured by my prediliction for pale intellectual types and the remnants of feverishness, but the author isn't so bad to gaze upon either. (For clarity, that's him on the left.)



See how I balance the intellectual pursuit of good literature with some gushing about cute guys? Light & shade, deep & shallow.

So, it's a new week. I feel much better. Time to shake off the introspective maudliness (is that even a word?) of the past week. I usually get a bit withdrawn and introspective when I'm sick. Beat a retreat. I think on one level that it's perhaps better to take oneself off to a quiet place and be demi-miserable in solitude than to be one of those people who becomes an attention whore when they're sick. Maybe? (And does writing about it here actually make me both?)

On the other hand, if you are lying in bed with a fever it's not really the best time in the world to decide to run inventory on your life. Because, the non-feverish truth of the matter is that the glass is definately more than half full.