they are allergic to people

    When I said I get good sleep every other night, I miscalculated.

    I used to be more adept at the whole gift thing, both giving and receiving. Maybe it's that I'm becoming more furtive, generally, and less comfortable around people. I'm just awkward about getting presents, opening them, gauging whether my responses are correct and appropriate. And I can't tell at all whether my own gifts for others are right anymore.
    Case in point: currently trying to decide between a trip to a film premier and a gift card for clothes. While I'm certain that either would be appreciated and enjoyed, I am of two minds with this. Further consideration is needed.

    Elinor Lipman's most recent novel, The View from Penthouse B, was an extraordinary little treasure. It seemed light and unassuming until maybe 3/4 through, at which point I realized that if I put it down, I would be tormented by not knowing how it ended. I read the last few chapters very fast but closely, savoring, laughing with a lump in my throat. I liked this one on a par with Isabel's Bed and The Inn at Lake Devine--which, if you've heard me talk books before, you know to be truly high praise.

    Tomorrow's probably going to be one of those days. The kind where I wish I had a few more moments to myself, but I also realize that it's about the connections I've made, so...yeah. Connections. Here's to getting out of that shell now and then.

[the title quotation is by David Foster Wallace, from from A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, and reads in its entirety as below] 

“Lonely people tend, rather, to be lonely because they decline to bear the psychic costs of being around other humans. They are allergic to people. People affect them too strongly."