Wow. I haven’t written one of these in a while. And by a while I mean literally not since last year. Somehow every time the idea of writing an Epistolary post pops up in my mind, another, more topical idea elbows its way to the front. Speaking of, I actually still need to write a Sequel Sunday for The Heart Forger…
But not just yet.
Since it’s the first day of the month, I figured that I should at least try to start it off right. And what better way to do that than by reviewing the first two months of the year in a loose and casual personal post. It’s weird because 2019 so far feels like it’s gone on for much longer than two months but at the same time like not much time has passed at all. A real paradox, I say.
I meant to write another Epistolary post – since I insisted that it’s a “series” I’m doing on my blog now – but I kept putting it off in favour of working on more interesting, more pressing posts. Honestly, last week was supposed to be that Ruthless Magic in-depth analysis that I’ve been vaguely working on for weeks but… apparently themes are much more difficult to sort out than I expected so that post will have to wait until next year.
Anyway, ever since my first Epistolary, a lot of things have happened. Not all of them good but most of them aren’t nearly as bad as I thought it was. Though my paranoid pea-sized brain does tend to exaggerate every little inconvenience so that’s not really saying much.
It’s the third day of September (at least I hope it still is by the time I get this done) and I’ve realized yet again that I’ve only published one blog post last month. Heck, besides just recently, I barely even opened my drafts folder to work on a post. It’s so annoying because I used to be able to blog so easily before. To be fair, I rarely put any thought or effort on my posts back when I was a wee “blogger.” My posts used to be just pure, unadulterated teenage drivel.
Now that I’m older I’m aiming for more, shall we say, substantial blog posts. Quality is what I’m going for on this blog, not quantity. I want to write blog posts that actually have some thought and meaning to them. Blog posts that I actually bothered to make an effort to be something worth reading. Blog posts that I can read back and not roll my eyes to oblivion for being so feckless and unnecessary.
Not this blog post though. This post is to just make sure that I don’t have two posts of the same subject (The Oremere Chronicles) published right next to each other. I don’t want people to think that I’ve done nothing since then.
So here are the books I read in August. It’s a mixed bag, this month’s reads. Graphic novels, a non-fiction account, two disappointing old timey books, and an absolutely magical magic book that I’m currently obsessed with.
In accordance to my New Year’s resolution to blog more (and blog better… if possible), I’m going to share my surprisingly uplifting progress for this year’s Goodreads’ Reading Challenge. Hardly an interesting topic but there really isn’t anything else going on in my life to talk about so this will have to do. Adulthood is simultaneously exhausting and disappointing and I’ve moaned about that one topic too many times already.
Anyway. Last year’s embarrassing failure still haunts me so I’ve been extra careful not to fall behind this time around. I can never forget that I once pledged a hundred books in 2017, thinking that I had all the time I’d ever need after I’d graduate university, only to chop my goal in half when I had four months left of the year and barely reached a quarter of my goal.
On the first few months of 2017, I was busy stressing about graduation, chasing deadlines, fulfilling requirements that made absolutely no sense, and constantly disassociating whenever the situation called for my full attention. It was pure pandemonium and I had nobody to blame but my own stupid self. In fact, it got so bad that I was convinced that I developed hypertension because of all the headaches and bouts of nausea. Turns out that it was all just stress. My blood pressure’s fine, always has been; I just had a really unhealthy way of dealing with stress, thank god.
Every time any one of my family members step inside my room – on the rare occasions that I actually permit their presence in my inner sanctum – they always marvel at how my bedroom is becoming more and more like a library with all the books I’ve acquired. I, however, would always correct them. My room is a far cry from an actual library. I only have one proper book closet (overflowing with read books) and two bookcases (for my to-read books). I also put a few select books (the ones that are particularly close to my heart) on my desk and on my bed’s headboard shelf. Hardly close to an actual library that has books everywhere, I think.
Though considering the sheer number of books I do own, I guess my room may be like a mini library. And a library really ought to be organized so it’s easier to find and get the books that I want/need. With that train of thought, I decided to clean up and rearrange my book closet the other day. I had been meaning to do it for a while now but just didn’t have the motivation or the time for it. I mean, if I was going to do it I had to be sure that I was serious and had a lot of time on my hands. The task would, after all, take more than just a few hours. Thankfully, summer idleness had left me itching to do something and I had some time before I took the plunge to fourth-year-college-dom next month.
Here’s the before photo of my book closet:
Spoiler: I didn’t bother with my bookcases (the two besides my book closet) since it’d be useless anyway. I knew that whatever order I’d end up piling my to-read books in would be disturbed sooner or later when I choose a new book. The fact that I was exhausted and more than just a little bit dizzy after reorganizing all of my read books may have also discouraged me from even attempting to touch my to-read shelves.