I was stressed out from impending deadlines. I was momentarily disenchanted with a post graduate course that, while incredibly useful and instructive, also seems to suck all of the happiness out of me at times when I really need to hold on to my positive attitude. I was tired and cross and more than a bit weepy, but talking to a kind friend helped me to realise that feeling like this, and talking about it, is not a failure. It’s a release.
It also made me realise how long it’s been since I’ve walked into my father’s study and looked at his hoard.
So I picked a certain book off one of the shelves as I emptied the dehumidifier we usually have running in there. (We’re terrified of moisture wreaking havoc on the books; it already affected one of the walls until we got the plasterer in.)