I haven’t opened a book for days (since Wednesday last, in fact). Seriously. I haven’t wanted to, either. That is, I’ve wanted to read, in a general sense, I just haven’t wanted to read any specific book. I pick one up, say Nils Holgerssons Underbara Resa or The Little House in the Big Forest or Middlemarch (which I’m half-way through) and think, for a second, “How about this one, then?” and then immediately: “Nah.”
I must be ill.
Voice in my head: Pete Seeger – Little Boxes