Love is a game, a game! A game we play in our minds and a game where we leave out of hearts and pretend we're in love when we really aren't because we want to say 'I am in love!' Sometimes I feel the random urge to tell people I love them when I really don't, just because I want to say those words. That is not to say I don't love people, I do! I treasure those around me and I love them in a platonic-I-care-for-you kind of manner but convention states that saying 'I love you' in those situations is inappropriate.

Wheeeeeeeee. I feel (slightly more than usual) energetic now, it must be the 2 hour nap I had after I got back from school. I shudder to think of how I can possibly sleep at an acceptable hour tonight though.

Yesterday I followed Daryl and Ted Kin to go to Borders! Each of us bought more than 4 books, thanks to the combined discounts of 46% off all books. Daryl bought Suite Francaise which I wanted too, but it was an awfully thick book and I have an awful short amount of time. He has a backlog of about 80 books, mine is around 25. I do feel a little happy with myself though, since I managed to finish Updike's The Women Who Got Away in 2 days, something I have not done since I obsessively read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

I did get 4 more books of the Great Loves imprint, Stendhal, Virgil, Abelard and Casanova but alas was still unable to find Mansfield and Freud -____- I think I might have to order it online if I'm going to complete this collection! I find it mildly depressing to think that I have never before ever completed something quite fully. I also impulse bought the rather strangely named The Dead Fish Museum (I've been getting increasingly drawn to short stories as of late - an effect of the IB programme or an actual change in reading tastes?).

I have my fingers crossed it is not another Bed or No One Belongs Here More Than You - which are excellent books but have taken to the rather unsatisfying option of apparent new wave literature: lacking a real plot or having a simple one and words to evoke emotions with no real resolution and conclusion at the end (That being said I loved Learning to Love You More immensely, though it isn't fiction). In the end you leave with a feeling of dissastisfaction and strange emotions which cannot be explained. I half feel like reading such books actually kills my ability to feel more than making me feel more; but I like holding those books in my hands anyway. Meep!