I may not make much sense: new job, living out of a suitcase, girlfriend on the other side of the stupid ocean (without bloody end), not enough sleep - no clear head space for writing, or anything else for that matter.
A stack of research files finally arrived (I posted them to myself before moving countries) so I can resume work on the new book. Maybe. In the meantime the notes are stacked at the end of the bed along with scraps of paper, gardening catalogues, manuscripts, paint colour cards, old bills and various piles of books. None of which I'm reading.
Too stupid to read (although I did manage a Zadie Smith at last and not quite sure why). I'm very good at looking at pictures in gardening books. That's the extent of my reading just now.
Madness, really, since I now work in one of the most glorious buildings in Australia and it's filled with books.
I have, however, downloaded a whole stack of audio from ABC Radio's Book Show so I can listen to good old Ramona Koval talking about books, until the day I'm once again awake enough to read one - let alone write one.
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