Yet another hidden blog reader bears her identity to me...I apologize now for my stupidity.
You may find it odd, but I really did resist blogging for a long time. Really, I did. I thought, "What a narcissistic pursuit to expect people to care what you had for breakfast or that you are allergic to Swiss cheese." But then I figured that I don't force anyone to read this crap, and maybe, in my daily idiocies, someone might catch a glimpse of me and like it. They might catch news of what's going on, and better yet, why it is going on. And I am pretty big into the whys of the world.
So there you have it.
Besides, a little side benefit to this computerized diary, is that I get to write in the margins of all of things that strike me as momentous when I'm reading. And at the moment, that happens to be another try at my friend, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and his classic, Love in the Time of Cholera. It is my 6 month classic selection. But I read this once in college in Spanish--I believe I translated excerpts? but I can't remember exactly. It was a time when I was particularly fluent, and I was reading literature effortlessly, and found myself at many times actually dreaming in Spanish.
So here from the first chapter: "He smiled at her from the far shore of ecstasy," and this which seems particularly apropos considering my insomnia affliction: "Thinking as she slept, she thought that she would never again be able to sleep this way, and she began to sob in her sleep, and she slept, sobbing, without changing position on her side of the bed, until long after the roosters crowed and she was awakened by the despised sun of the morning without him."
I wish I still dreamt in Spanish. Or at least in the margins.