It really is okay, because I've fallen in love with someone else: Leo Tolstoy. The first hundred pages of War and Peace were a challenge for me, but I am so glad that I stuck with it; I am totally enthralled with this story--I am even dreaming about it when I sleep! I woke up this morning surprised that I was not at Otradnoye, that it was not Christmas, that the year was not 1809. I am a very slow (i.e. careful) reader; it has taken me three weeks to read six hundred pages (about half the book), but I don't want to rush through it. In fact, last night I was thinking: I might be happy reading War and Peace forever. When I finish, I want to begin another translation. I am currently reading Anthony Briggs', but I would like to read the Maude's, and also Peaver and Volokhonsky's. I have a great, long list of books that I had planned to read this year, and suddenly there is only War and Peace.
Tomorrow begins the Great Fast, and although I do not plan on abstaining from the internet, I expect that I will spend less time here over the coming weeks. For one thing, I need to get outside. My body feels sun-starved, you know? For another, I feel like I don't have anything interesting to say. These last few weeks of winter are the toughest of the year for me. I limp through them (literally). I saw my doctor yesterday and besides running a bunch of tests, she is sending me to a rheumatologist, which makes me feel old.