I have a routine after I come home from work: check the Internet, take a nap (if necessary), cook supper. Occasionally the Internet and nap stretch on for longer than I intend and I don't end up starting dinner until after 8. I probably should look into preparing and freezing meals in advance because I always forget how much time it takes to actually get everything ready. The good thing about living alone is being able to cook the full recipe and freezing whatever I don't eat that night. Anyway, tonight was another extended nap that ended me waking up in a panic, thinking I overslept for work; whenever I nap too long, it throws me off for the rest of the night, and I get especially frustrated at the loss in productivity. I have way too much I want to get done this week.
I've been reading a lot more in the past year than I had in the previous few; a lot of the credit goes to Halifax's new central library: it's an amazing space that you just want to be in. A number of my friends also happen to be voracious readers, so there's also the social/peer pressure factor. I had been intending to read more for a while though; you know the whole thing about how the most important thing an aspiring writer can do is read? I really slacked on that assignment for a while. I blame my disposition toward trying to soak up the canon of television history. It's also something to keep me occupied during my daily bus commute to work that doesn't use up my phone's data plan, so that's that.
I remember trying to make a list of books I wanted to read before I was 35 that has since been lost to time (I think), but it still astounds me I hadn't read The Bell Jar until last November or Nineteen Eighty-Four until just this past month. Right now I'm tackling Heather O'Neill's Lullabies for Little Criminals, which so far is pretty good.
I need to wrap this up to get this posted before midnight, so if any of you can leave a book recommendation in the comments, that would be lovely.