I’m waiting for my triumphant return to school in January, till then I am CHILLING.
Right now I’m almost done One Hundred Years of Solitude and Gabor Maté (my love)‘s Hungry Ghosts. One Hundred Years has me conflicted—although I can appreciate it’s patient meditation on the cyclical nature of capitalism, it’s pacing is emotionally nonlinear, and paired with the six generations of all too similar names, it’s been a tedious venture so far. Conversely, I was enthralled by the first half of Hungry Ghosts so much that I went back and highlighted all the lines that struck me, and now I’ve got just shy of a hundred pages left. As an addict I’m indebted to his compassion, research, prose, and those adorable cheek bones