August already? I start grad school again roughly a month from today, and this is guaranteed to be another semester from hell. If I weren't so determined to graduate in December things wouldn't be so bad, but of course I have no patience so must fit everything in. Never mind my sanity; that's long gone anyway.

I've been reading like a fiend, with no time to get caught up on reviews/thoughts. Among the books I've finished there are so many others I started and put aside as being not worth the waste of precious reading time pre-semester. I thought I was picky before, but I've risen to all new heights. Besides, I want to get through as many review books as possible. That's priority one, followed closely by books that are way too tempting to resist. The more books I review, the more publishers send me.

I'm a whore that way.

Sam Savage's The Cry of the Sloth – which I finished yesterday – may turn out to be my best read of the year. I know, it's only August, but damn. This book blew me away like Jon Clinch's Finn did a couple years ago. Savage's book Firmin was equally fantastic. I reviewed it last yearish. Sloth is out of this world funny and heartbreaking, and I'll review that as soon as I can. I'd love to re-read it before I talk about it. Don't know if I'll have the time, though.

Sam Savage is published by Coffee House Press, one of my very favorite indie publishers. And not just because they recently sent me a nice stack of books.

I'm currently reading a book for Amazon Vine review. Of course I can't recall the name or author off-hand. That would be far too convenient. But it's set in Australia and it's another of great potential. You'll just have to take my word for it.

In other news, I'll shortly begin reviewing for the Feminist Review, an online 'Zine.  And no, I'm not a rabid feminist, but they ask we write from the female perspective. That I can do, being female and all, the last time I checked.

Otherwise, my current source of stress comes from my inability to keep both a reading journal and everyday journal going, while also blogging and keeping track of my various "nervous conditions." The latter I hand write in leather journals, and I'm fairly faithful to it, summarizing at least once a week or so. But now I'm wondering, do I really want my children, and future generations of my family, to read about my abnormalities, assumed identities and irrational behaviors? Should I re-write the expurgated version, or let the world know the extent to which my depravity extends? Would they publish it one day, and let the world know how truly odd I am?

Hope I don't get hit by a bus on the way home.

I clearly have major issues to think about. I better go tend to them.