Light summer reading.
There's a bookcase in the room I'm staying in at my sister's house, full of all the books she' stolen from my old room at the Parental Units' over the years. I was poking through it the other day, seeing all this sci-fi and Clive Barker stuff, which is about all she reads. Then I came across something really weird. Way in the back, was a pristine paperback copy of The Brothers Karamazov, never even cracked open. I don't know where it came from, because I don't think I ever had a copy of it. So I've swiped it, and am working my way through it. It's one of those books I've always been "meaning to get around to", and I just don't feel like any of my books right now, except for Foucault's Pendulum, which I can't find, and sort of need. But I'm too lazy to go through all my boxes of books.
I was sitting in the breakroom at work this morning during my lunch(brunch?: 10.45AM)break, and one of the women there asks what I'm reading, which I generally hate people doing, for unknown reasons, although the ensuing conversation provides a possibility. I tell her. She then asks me if it's fiction, and I blink at her for a second. She takes this to mean that I didn't understand and rephrases her question, "Is it true, or not true?" I blink at her again, then tell her yes, it's fiction. She goes back to her food. End conversation. I need to move closer to the university here.