starting the book again

2025 · 09

Quiet week. M. was away two nights at her sister's and I had the flat to myself, which I always assume I'll make something of and then just don't.

I took the big novel back down off the shelf. The one J. pushed on me last year with that face people make when they love a book and need you to love it too. I got maybe a third in before it stalled somewhere in the winter, and it's been sat there being quietly reproachful every time I dusted round it.

Tried to just carry on from the bookmark. No chance. I didn't know who half of them were anymore, and there was a whole business about a house that I'm fairly sure mattered and had gone clean out of my head. So I started again at page one.

Better this time. Slower, but on purpose. I'm not treating it as a thing to get to the end of. The first fifty pages I'd raced through turn out to be lovely if you let them be long. There's a scene on a train I don't remember at all, which is a strange feeling, like reading your own book and finding a bit you never kept. (edit: J. tells me the house thread pays off later. we'll see.)

No promises about finishing; I've made that promise before. But it's on the table by the chair now instead of the shelf.