I've actually had a pretty good week and am feeling quite rested. I seem to have moved beyond needing the heavy drugs and last night didn't wake up needing something in the middle of the night.
In preparation for this last week I had gone to the library and borrowed a stack of books, few of which I have read because last week (and probably up to Tuesday) reading just didn't work for me concentration-wise.
Three of the books, though, were from that Australian Classic girls series by Mary Grant Bruce about the inhabitants of Billabong Station* in Victoria, and I hadn't read them since my early high school years. It was great getting reacquainted with their early history, because I have books 4 through to 15, but never found the first three to purchase.
Having read the first three I decided to detour from my library books to enjoy the rest of the series while I'm in the mood for their little world, and it is very strange to think that these particular young people were contemporaries of my great-grandparents** - and just now the boys are heading off to The Great War.
It is really odd to go back through a series of books that you knew really well many years ago. Even stranger when you consider a particular habit of mine.
I grab any stray piece of paper to use as a book mark. Certainly some of my books have purpose-built bookmarks given to me by friends, but often when I read my own books I find old receipts, post cards, scraps torn from old church notices or envelopes. It's almost like the thrill of an archaelogical dig to find what book mark is in an old book.
And in Book 4 of the Billabong series I found a scrap of paper, obviously torn from the bottom corner of a diary with handwriting I don't recognise spelling out "Don and Cathy" and a phone number. It's an eight digit phone number, so must post-date my high school years, but the chance of me remembering who Don and Cathy are and why I have their phone number is...
... Approximately None.
*"Ranch" for my occasional guest from the US of A.
** or at least would have been contemporaries, if they had not been fictional characters