the abstract idea of reading is consuming me. I have to write that book. before my mind gets some degenerative disease and all those memories of notes get erased or lost. strangely, a pure strategy price equilibrium is known as a degenerate price equilibrium.

books pile on hubby's bedside table, which is chivalrously/generously given to me for the summer of my stay. one I'm forcing him to read, and he, despite hating it, is probably reading cos he wants to know what I saw in it. but is not really reading it, cos he keeps picking up his 'other' book piled on top of this, that he is repeat-reading; that one is boring to me and after he asked me two hypothetical questions from that, and I tried reading two different essays in it for a paragraph each and saw no point, I am ignoring with undiluted indifference. it is full of essays on pop culture (I don't understand that anyway).

another one is what he gifted me on my birthday just gone by. I logged into his amazon to order some bras that very day, cos he has the prime account, and I noticed it was arriving. I looked it up, wondered whether to keep the finding of the surprise a surprise or not. didn't really make a decision on that, and just blurted it out to see how that would go. and then I wondered, whether the book was some sort of nudge, an inspiration, to get me to take myself more seriously. no, not that. I take myself more seriously than I ought to, in many ways. then maybe, a nudge to get me to shake that laziness off, get on my toes. cos its a female economist's feminist memoir about breaking through (and keeping the door open). its actually much better than I thought it'd be. not written like a practiced memoir-ist, but way more real precisely cos of that.

the last right now, if you have read the last couple of posts here, you should know is a Valeria Luiselli. a new-found love. I hope it lasts. or was it for the voice of the narrator (which is partly she herself but partly a storyteller a liar and a chimera), cos another voice is replacing that one and since I realized this was happening, I'm not picking it up.

I was thinking my blog is my collection of notes like Luiselli's post-its were. but would I ever sell any of this? am I asking myself if I would ever be able to sell any of my writing, or if I would ever choose to sell my writing given someone would want to buy it?? two question marks for those two very different questions. do I write for the rare spike in website tracking views that I sometimes get, or do I write to be able to sit down on those days and read what I wrote years ago, also spiking the view-counter as a by-product? I've told it many times not to count my page-views but it ignores me and goes on counting me.

Keywords here (like in academic journals): degenerate, read, write, essays, surprise, nudge, feminist, liar, questions, sell, spike.

and I just bought another book on someone's recommendation. rare that, people who recommend books to me now. hope hubby and I will both read the same book at the same time, and I of course will be still reading the beginning while he finishes. I am the tortoise, yes.