I just finished reading Revolutionary Road; I thought it was really good in a sort of thoughtfully depressing way. There were several passages that struck a chord with me, like this one:
It haunted him all night, while he slept alone; it was still there in the morning, when he swallowed his coffee and backed down the driveway in the crumpled old Ford he used for a station car. And riding to work, one of the youngest and healthiest passengers on the train, he sat with the look of a man condemned to a very slow, painless death. He felt middle-aged.
When I read that, I thought yeah, that’s right; that’s what 40 feels like. Despite my best efforts, I’m tired and directionless… oh, I still have my basic cheery outlook, but there’s also a new underlying feeling of general malaise.
I suppose reading depressing books isn’t going to help the situation.
ON a cheerier note, how pretty is this square?! Susan stitched it for me as part of an Easter exchange and I love it :)
And hey, happy First Day of Spring!