It's the start of summer.

I got my rooming assignment 3 months before I should have, with no actual notification, it just popped up. It's where I wanted to be, which is a nice thing to be able to say. I'm going to be living where I want to be living.

I'm starting to read again because I finally have the time. I'd like to read about a book a week, at the least. I've got a couple of shelves in my room devoted to books and I've amassed a somewhat large collection of books that I haven't had the time to read yet. 100 pages into the first book of the summer, one I've borrowed. Next I should probably read the other book I've borrowed, that way I won't have any books I need to give back to anyone. Then I'll probably start working on my pile of unread books. I'm not sure where to start, I've got a bit of a variety: Joyce, Murakami, Pynchon, Lovecraft, Kafka, Sartre. Well, I guess it's not that varied of a selection as the authors have similar writing styles or writing styles that aren't too far off from the 'norm' of my collection. I've got my tastes, I suppose.

Also, I'm starting to write again, as evidenced by this. It's not fiction, but it's close enough for now. Maybe writing here will sprout some ideas. At the very least it could help me learn how to write... coherently. Maybe develop a writing style of my own. I'm never quite sure if I'm emulating the current books I'm reading or my favorite authors when I'm writing. I suppose it's all part of that constant struggle for identity.

Don't expect to see me published anytime soon, is what I'm saying.

P.S. I found it slightly ironic that after I wrote that I went to go click on the 'PUBLISH POST' button.