Lack of output

Yesterday I began to read Essays in Love (我談的那場戀愛) by Alain de Botton (艾倫．狄波頓) and I finished it today. It's been a long time since I've read a book in two days. (even longer time ago since I've read a book in one day). I have to recommend Essays in Love quite highly. It's very hard, I think, to find intelligent and candid discussions of romantic love that isn't full of recycled tripe. De Botton reminded me a lot of Annie Hall, another look at romantic relationships which I have always really appreciated. Whereas Allen excelled in the humorous and slightly rueful aspects though, De Botton was level-headed in his first person analysis (even whilst being passionate - and no, this isn't a contradiction) and really quite positive rather than wistful.

Junni said that perhaps Essays in Love is a strange book to give to a lover, but I don't think so. A long time ago I broke up with someone I was seeing and he dropped off a pile of self-help books on how to love on my doorstep. It's hard to top that for inappropriate.

The point is though such an intense bout of reading has also made me want to write. I wrote emails to three friends I hadn't been in touch with for a long while and now I'm writing the longest and most coherent blog post since forever. The thing is, the less I read, the less I'm inclined to write. When I was a lit student I used to churn out blog posts all the time simply because my head was filled with words. Now that I don't read so much (though I definitely still read), I find myself getting further and further away from the person I used to be.

Is that a bad thing? I can be very nostalgic but I'm not unhappy with who I am now. (though I do wish I had a clearer picture of what I want to do with myself).

This blog though, is turning dreadfully dull as I had always predicted.