Not Really Done With Cheever

OK I'm done with John Cheever.

Then again I'm not.

61 short stories. 693 pages. Sorry, apparently I still have some of that accountant thing in me.

I can't remember the last time an author affected me so strongly. I love this guy, he blows me away, he was endlessly creative, deft with the written word, imaginative, amusing, insightful and entertaining.

I am not done with him because he also wrote 5 novels, and apparently there is a collection of his journals out there too.

I still have work to do. I look forward to it.

I am living dangerously today because I am in between books. As I have explained previously, I don't believe I can die when I am immersed in a book. It is when I am in between books that I become vulnerable.

You would expect that I would just pick up the next book and read a couple of pages for protection.

However, it is exciting to live dangerously once in a while. To live on the edge.

If I survive the day I will begin a new book tomorrow morning. The only extravagance I have indulged in since I began the torture of this job last February, is books. I have so many books backed up that it thrills me.

Wish me luck today.

Ciao, baby.