anatomy of melancholy

listening to: lindstrom
drinking: rooibos

i am all mixed up with time, unsure of where to be when. the clock in my bedroom gains fifteen minutes every day. it is time for tea at the paperchase, it is time for bed, it is time for dinner. mornings of strong earl gray, afternoon snacks of licorice sticks, long walks around the north end at night. i have the dog for company.

i know that it's an old and reassuring story, that of a bookish girl entering "the cool, dark library, discovering loneliness and freedom" (this is so well-worn to be a quote, surely), but i find comfort in it still. from the library, i borrow the anatomy of melancholy, an engraved edition from 1897. from the bookshop, the one -- the a maze of piles of slim orange penguins -- i buy a paperback of alice munro's short stories, and coetzee for class.