Poor me.
Or it could be that I just finished reading Robertson Davies' novel, The Manticore and it made me so deliciously happy that I had butterflies in my stomach as if I was in love. He quotes Ibsen:
To live is to battle with trolls
in the vaults of heart and brain.
To write: that is to sit
in judgment over one's self.
I wonder what Davies judged of himself as he wrote. You can hear his voice so clearly through his stories speaking of a different kind of spirituality, mocking the modernism that he believed threw out years of truths for a different kind of slavery.
Wonderful.
But I still think it's the flu.
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