It's been bugging me for some time now. This gnawing hunger for intellectual meat. I fear I've not only allowed myself to grow soft around the middle lately, but soft around the ears as well. Listening to mo+o reminiscing about his days in Japan when he was able to devour books as he commuted back and forth to work has only made the feeling of lack more accute. It brought to mind those days before I had broadband, XBox and a DVD player. Back when I'd spend hours in front of the fireplace or on the porch or in a cafe reading Milton, CS Lewis, Tolkien, Chesterton, Saint Exupery, to drop a name or two. There's nothing stopping me for doing that now, other than a distinct lack of discipline. I think its time to pick up the weights again.
I can think of no better time to start than this weekend either. Autumn is always a contemplative time for me. Just something about the crisp air, ice blue skies and longer shadows that seems to make you stop and go, "Hmm." I'm going up to see Laurie this weekend. Thankfully I've got a lady that likes to read as much I do (or did). Maybe I can con her into holing up at the Muse or Starbucks so I can dive back into some partially read books on my shelves. But where to start? Maybe while I'm sorting it out, I can finally get past that giant zombie in Far Cry.
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