Beanie level: Rooftop room dweller

I was going to write something sappy for this last Love, February post, but didn’t because heartfelt emotion makes me uncomfortable. So instead, here’s an awkward hug to all the Beanies who participated, who commented, who read, and even those who skittered away from all that talk of love. A special Korean pat on the back to @hotcocoagirl for sharing her writing prompt. This was fun, and scary, but most of illuminating. You all are great, and this really is a unique corner of the internet that I was lucky to stumble upon.
Well, I guess this got sappy anyway. Tomorrow I shall return with snark and sarcasm fully reloaded.
Happy Valentine’s Day
Love, February

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For a variety of reasons food became an enemy. I didn’t know what I could eat, and I didn’t want to eat. So, I pretty much didn’t. For months. A lot of months. Even when given the task of adding a new food to my diet, I couldn’t muster any enthusiasm, and instead would find reasons to put it off, or to reject it altogether. The smell was nauseating, it tasted bad, it didn’t taste at all, or I was just plain afraid it was too closely related to an already identified “bad” food. Food, that binder of family, tradition, and comfort, was now only a source of anxiety, stress, and fear.

So, for a long time I wasn’t interested in eating anything, and I listlessly figured that this might be my new normal.

But then Strong Woman Do Bong Soon’s Min Hyuk found himself in the hospital recuperating from a knife wound and surrounded by Bong Soon’s noisy family. It was not Min Hyuk that caught my attention though, and it also wasn’t Bong Soon and her family. By this episode the drama was beginning to lose my interest, and I was watching out of habit, but then someone brought out a giant metal bowl of…..I leaned forward.

What is that? I thought.

There was rice, there were vegetables, there was a sauce, some kind of oil. When hands reached in and started to mix it all together, I had another thought. That looks good.

That looks good

For the first time, in a very long time, I wanted to eat, and I wanted to eat that giant bowl of bibimbap.

It took a while before I could actually eat a bowl that resembled what I saw on screen. One ingredient at a time I worked my way towards finding which I could use, and what might have to stay out of my bowl. Gochujang was a revelation that rocked my taste buds and opened a new food world. A fried egg on rice? Yes, please. And the different Korean side dishes? Oh my gosh, where have they been all my life?

Korean drama gave me food back. It might not be the food of my childhood, and it might not be the food that others around me want to eat, but it brought back hunger, taste, and satisfaction. Most of all, that simple bowl of bibimbap pushed away the fear, and it gave me new foods to love.

Love, February

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I give up, nothing is working tonight, so I will instead leave you with this song that never fails to bring a smile to my face because I must sing-along.

Love, February

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It’s Sunday. That means it’s watch day for the It Started With a Kiss gang.

Start time for They Kiss Again is 7pm (CST)

Where? rabbit of course. Make an account, and meet some Beanies here https://www.rabb.it/s/5up2m

Anyone is welcome. Really. We are a lot of fun, and the more the merrier.

Keen insights may be part of our commentary. Or not.

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Sometimes when reading you meet a passage that so encapsulates the weird tangents of your own thought processes that you feel suddenly validated and understood. And then you want to share this shared weirdness.

However, before I share this shared weirdness, I must confess another. It’s no secret that I love books, but I especially adore books about books. I will, with great pleasure, read books about reading, books about writing, as well as books about collecting books. My weirdness for book-topic related books though, also includes gleefully consuming grammar and style guides. I know, and I see your side-eye, but language is fascinating and the ways we attempt to wrangle it into submission are riveting.

At this point it’s likely you are wondering: 1) why is egads confessing to being a grammar nerd, 2) if she’s such a grammar nerd why are her posts riddled with errors, and 3) why is she not getting to that passage that encapsulates the weird thought tangents?

Because did you also know I adore exploring the myriad differences in English dialects? Today, I will spare you from my long-winded takedown of the so-called Standard American English and its supposed superior correctness over other American English dialects. Rather, the passage I wish to share is a musing about just one of many of the idiosyncratic differences between British English and American English, and the strange manner in which my own brain interprets words seen on a page.

It should also be noted that recently I had an argument over the spelling of the word grey. Notice here I used “grey” and not “gray.” As a citizen of the United States, I lost this argument, because American English, in yet another fit of rebellion, uses the “a” instead of the (better looking, and dare I admit to thinking, better sounding) “e.” Perhaps it is my ancestral roots of English Loyalists forced to flee the war and spend a nearly a century in Canada that makes me stubbornly hang onto grey, or perhaps it is a childhood of reading English literature that makes grey a familiar friend. (My British English speaking friends, are you also cringing over the punctuation inside the quotation marks? Sorry about that, but it is an American punctuation rule I will stand by and defend to the death.)

Here finally, is a lovely footnote from my current read. Which, by the way, has copious chatty footnotes, yet another thing I adore. (Have I used adore too much?)

\”Buy me a cocktail or two and I\’ll regal you at length with my admittedly crackpot notion that gray and grey are, push comes to shove, two different colors, the former having a glossy, almost silvery sheen to it, the latter being heavier, duller, and sodden.”

This my friends, is the inside of my head on this snowy Sunday morning.

Love, February

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    I know, and I see your side-eye

    There is no side-eye here, only respect.

    Also, when is my copy coming…

    Also also, I love your long-windedness, this post is beautiful, and how is the thing about grey and gray so true?

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      I don’t know @bammsie, but gray is an entirely different color than grey. (I almost spelled color as colour, but even I can’t go that far into Britishisms. Besides, Brits, I do think it might be time to let go of that superfluous “u.”)

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    I adore this <3
    Also, I'm surprised by how much sense this thing about grey and gray being two different colors makes lol. Thank you so much for sharing!

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    I love this.

    As an American who studied in Canada, which appears to have randomly adopted bits of both systems, I feel you. I was once told in my first year of university that I had spelled “color” wrong because I saw no need to add the “u”. I immediately changed my computer language to “Canadian English” and my heathen ways were no longer apparent in the country of my northern brethren. Also, my mother was taught grammar in the European system and while I now place punctuation inside quotations in my formal writing, it hurts a little bit every time I do so. However, I have come to terms with this and am adaptable, which is why my writing often feels inconsistent.

    For me, the “grey” v. “gray” thing comes down to this: with an “a” it refers to Gray’s Anatomy (the anatomy text, not the delightfully soapy American drama) and with an “e” it refers to color. (I will not use the superfluous “u” now that I am firmly returned to my barbaric homeland). I think this is because I grew up seeing Gray’s Anatomy around my home, and was therefore always tickled by the pun in the name of the aforementioned American drama.

    I suppose, in the end, I have a very screwy grammar system which works but is some bastardized version of the American and the English/Canadian.

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      I love your response so so much.

      I would say your system isn’t screwy, rather you are bi-dialectical (more likely tri, as I’m sure the Canadians have their own idiosyncrasies), and are able to code-switch with ease.

      Referring to Gray’s Anatomy, even I will concede that Henry Gray may keep the spelling of his surname.

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        Dare I ask if you give a f*** about the oxford comma?

        (There is only one correct answer. Choose wisely.)

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          I do. I believe wholeheartedly in the clarity of the serial comma.

          However, I will concede that language is an ever-changing and wily beast, and if others feel that they are able to live without it and maintain perfect clarity in their writing, they may discard it. I will still curse them as heathens, and furthermore, will mock them severely when they omit a necessary comma. (Not here Beanies. I only become a judgmental about grammar in formal writing)

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            You have chosen correctly.

            And while I agree with your general premise that language is ever-changing, I cannot help but think less of those who choose to live without abiding by its rules. I still refuse to use the word “irregardless” despite the fact that it has apparently become acceptable and a part of the lexicon. I also had a law school professor whose pet peeve was when people said “In regards to ___” as opposed to the proper “In regard to ___”. She told us that “You give your regards to Broadway”. This is honestly one of the few lessons from law school that has stuck with me. And while the rational part of me realizes that usage changes and adapts over time, my personality is that of a salty old broad who will refuse to share her cookies with grammar heathens.

            However, I’m a full supporter of of the use of slang and colloquialisms and have been known to use both liberally.

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            I was only planning to lurk on your conversation, but I needed to affirm my feelings for the Oxford comma.

            Also, I needed to laugh at @snarkyjellyfish for being a “salty old broad who will refuse to share her cookies with grammar heathens.”

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            @hotcocoagirl Literally my only goal in life is to become a salty old broad who sits on her porch and yells at the youths. The only part I don’t have down yet is the “old” — though some may argue that I’m getting there (they’d be wrong, but they could argue it). I have a few people who I’ve allowed to share my porch of saltiness with — beanies are welcome of course — but my standards are high.

            (Also, while we’re on the topic of grammar, I’m very fond of the em-dash and find it to be a highly underrated tool in the kit of the written language.)

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    Favourite post today.

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    Haha, I love this post

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    Grey vs. gray. So remember my daughter who won the state writing competition last year? She described her character as “grey” and only my husband’s great aunt’s husband caught the “mis” spelling when I let people read her story, and he said, and I quote, “I see she wrote it in the proper English.” I like the “look” of “grey” and started spelling it that way since middle school, when my friend’s last name was Grey, and I learned the English spelling. It reminds me of dark clouds as well. Gosh, I’m beginning to see why I like so many Beanies. Your brains are so similar to mine. Different cultures, ages, religions, socioeconomic backgrounds and we’re all the same.

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      Did you like all my misused commas?

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        I did :). Your use of quotations marks is also “interesting.”

        It’s funny how I can turn off my proofreading brain when reading informal and social media writing, but if there is a misspelling on a menu, or a wayward apostrophe floating in an article, I can’t look away.

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    I struggle whenever I need to write the word grey. My diet is mainly British authors, but my work forces me to write in a severe limited American shorthand, where gray is not one of the prescribed colors of health nor disease (red, blue, purple, pink, pale, yellow, or, if you are trying to be politically correct, within patient’s norms).

    I digress. I love the quote, as I would honestly immensely enjoy sitting down and hearing this gray vs grey argument over a cocktail or two. ☺️🧐🤓

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    But what is the title of the book?

    The only book I can remember I’ve read about about a life of reading is 84, Charing Cross Road.

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      Dreyer’s English by Benjamin Dreyer

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        Anne Fadiman’s ex libres is a nice set of essays about reading. And Helene Hanff has other books about being a struggling playwright in NY.

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        And, another interesting and a bit gossipy book by a copy editor is Between You and Me Confessions of a Comma Queen

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    Thanks for the info @egads I just love it 💛💙💚💛💙💚💛💙💚

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Thoughts and conversation on this cold morning:

I will never understand why you don’t butter your toast immediately after it pops up. Cold butter on cold toast seems a sad disrespect to both. But I don’t say anything.

Is it genetic, this inability to fully close a drawer? It seems to have passed on to two of our three children. I quietly push them closed, usually.

Your breathing is loud today. Thankfully my playlist is louder.

“I do not know what happened to your favorite shirt you’ve been wearing since the twentieth century.” I do know what happened to this shirt. I happened, and you’re welcome.

“Do you really need more golf balls?” I say standing next to my to-be-read bookcase. Nevermind.

Love, February

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    The inability to fully close drawers is a dominant genetic trait I have also inherited although for the last 2 generations it has been recessive in the family.

    My husband’s solution: install automatic closing drawers in the last kitchen remodel 😅

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      I did the same in my kitchen remodel, but they have the knack, on occasion, to just miss the point of automatic closure.

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    💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝

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    LOL “Your breathing is loud today.”
    This is the reason I don’t think I can get married.

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    *chuckles*

    *sighs at the cold butter on cold toast*

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    My son has that genetic trait as well. Although, I don’t know where he got it from. Everyone else closes drawers. It’s probably autosomal recessive. I, however, know where he got the trait of forgetting to run off lights when leaving the room—that’s all me.

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    Nothing like framing marriage as some kind of long-form Chinese water torture to convince me I am better off single. But I’m glad you’ve never murdered your husband just to stop him breathing.

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      I should probably do the positive post tomorrow. Or maybe I should do a list from his perspective.

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        I would love to hear why he likes his bread cold and hard with lumps of unmelted butter on it. Maybe you should ask him to write it.

        Incidentally, your ‘shirt’ comment reminded me that my father wears shirts until they’re literally falling off him. And on more than one occasion, my mother barrelled into the room wielding a pair of scissors and cut it off him. And then said “The shirt is dead. RIP shirt.” And then ‘buried’ it in the rubbish bin.

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          LOL, I just make them quietly disappear and pretend some sort of laundry demon confiscated them. (I might be the laundry demon)

          I have asked about the toast, and he just shrugs and says it doesn’t matter. If I had known this before we married….

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            See, this is why you should have a conversation about the Big! Things! before you walk down the aisle. I wish people would have proper discussion about the important stuff before committing.

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            I have to admit, I have/wear clothes from the 20th c. also. And I could care less if my food is hot or cold.

            I do, however, close all drawers and breathe quietly.

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            @blnmom Full disclosure: I too wear some of my clothing from the twentieth century, but not a wildly-patterned out-dated frayed-collar shirt to work, where I am supposed to present myself in a professional manner. Perhaps this why I personally, do not want to work in a setting where I need to be professional. I made an executive decision as chief launderer that this shirt was no longer an asset.

            @leetennant hopefully others will learn from my mistake.

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          😂 I love your mother Chingu.

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    😂😂 i love it. all of it. and esp “I happened, and you’re welcome.” this. is. the. best.

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    The toast thing!

    Finally! There is someone else in the world who gets it!

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      Wait, are you a cold toast person?

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        I’m worried too! Perhaps the world is divided into cold toast and warm toast people.

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        @egads Nonono!!! Butter on warm toast only!!

        I should have specified “warm toast” on my previous post. I missed specifying that as I was just too excited to know that someone understood that the whole butter on warm toast thing!

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    As long as he doesn’t hide the peanut butter jar, it’s all good.

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The thing I like best about newly fallen snow is how it dampens the noise of life. Not only does it cover the ground, but it also blankets sounds. The lowered tones of my neighbor’s voice, the muffled crunch of tires driving by, and the repeated scrape of shovels up and down the street, don’t pierce my ear like the sometimes intrusive noise of summer. Instead the insulated sounds of a snowy day encourage books, tea, and blankets . . . but only after I shovel. (ugh)

Love, February

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Day 6:

Book mail, the best mail

Black Leopard Red Wolf
Dreyer’s English: An Utterly Correct Guide to Clarity and Style
How to Write an Autobiographical Novel: Essays
The Curse of the Boyfriend Sweater: Essays on Crafting
Convenience Store Woman

Love, February

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If I may, I would like to add a new rule to the Love, February posts: Don\’t apologize, don\’t say you are a bad writer, and for the love of the Beanieverse can you all stop making me cry.

thank you

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Day 4:

Some days the words come easy and fly out of the tips of your finger. Some days you need to root around in the corners of your brain to pull them out, and when they emerge they are ugly, small, and want to hide in shame.

Because today is the latter, I will share some whimsy I love that somehow expresses those two very different days.

Love, February

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Why did I think Kingdom was 8 episodes? Wae?

Don\’t leave me there.

Netflix, budgets, time, all of that….I hate you.

Bae Doo-na though, I luff.

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    Me too, I thought it was 8 episodes.

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      I was settled in to watch 6-8. I was ready with knitting, snacks, drinks, and then it was done. I was not mentally prepared, and I’m a bit peeved.

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        I actually was a bit relieved, because I wanted to sleep but I also wanted to finish it first. So I was like great, now I can sleep with peace, till they fix up the next season.

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A True Story

The manager hired a handsome boy. We sold men’s clothing, from casual to formal, and his off-season minor league baseball form was sleek in that suit. “Good marketing,” said the manager. The both of us were shy. I tried to hide my red face when I marked that suit for the tailor. He did not have the soft waist of the usual suburban dad customer. The handsome boy’s neck was pink when I reached up to adjust the shoulders.

For weeks we barely spoke. Just furtive looks. Sometimes catching eyes in a mirror. Folding a table of shirts from opposite ends to meet in the middle. Accidentally brushing together in the tight space behind the cash register. Glances, smiles, stuttered questions, switched shifts (oh everyone knew, watched, conspired).

End of the day. Everything folded, straightened, tidied, counted, put away. Our coats were on, and he adjusted his gloves only to pull them off again. We stopped just outside the storefront. Twisting his gloves, he asked, “Would you…..”

I looked up, he was so tall. The mall lights were dimming, and only the echo of workers eager to go home lingered after a busy day. The pause went on forever. My hands clenched hard the strap of my bag, but I wanted to reach up and push that fall of hair from his eyes. Then I heard him exhale. “Would you like to go to a Super Bowl party with me?”

“Can I bring a book?” The gate fell with clang.

The End

Love, February

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Calling any and all fans of Itazura na Kiss. We are resuming our weekly rabbit watch of the Taiwanese They Kiss Again. (sorry about bailing last week, but real life stuff decided to happen) Our dim, kind-hearted heroine continues to perplex her very smitten husband as they navigate university life, and living in the same house with one exceptionally nosy mother. Join us. Witness both scholarly analysis of the tsundre male, and the occasional fangirl gush over…well, the tennis coach seems to be a favorite for isa and me.

Anyhow, meet us at https://www.rabb.it/ at 7 pm CST. (Use your google skills to convert that time to your own. I’m firmly planted in my own time and struggle to wrap my head around how you could possibly exist in the future or the past.)

Don’t have a rabbit account yet? Why the heck not? The cool beanies hang out there (okay, I know I’m not cool, but the other beanies are, and if they let me hang out, they’ll let anyone). If you decide to join, you can find me by my DB handle and I’ll invite you to the They Kiss Again watchroom, as well as to the Beanie chat if you’d like.

Today’s photos include a cluttered promotional poster, and one headshot of the tennis coach. But sadly, he is without the dreadlocked mohawk of season one It Started With a Kiss.

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10 Things (in no particular order)

The smell of coffee
Quiet mornings
Words. printed, spoken, sung, and those waiting to be written
A skein of yarn
Non-scratchy pen (black ink)
Perfect notebook (softcover, A5, grid)
Parenthesis
Numbers
Order
Waves
Peanut butter on toast

Love, February

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*chants “He’s done horrible criminal unforgivable things”*
*thinks “awwwww, look how cute he is in his stocking cap”*

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It\’s officially no longer below 0F here. I guess I can leave the house, but first I should finally take out the trash instead of leaving it to freeze in the garage.

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    It’s still cold out there though, so I’ll likely only stock up on the supplies necessary to re-hermit over the weekend because I will have the house all to myself.

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Note to readers: this is a 4 am unproofread ramble

Dear Book,

I’m sorry.

That first time I pulled you from the shelf, careful not to damage, my hands treated you with the cold respect of acquaintances. Looking you over, reading your blurb, I made a judgment: You are interesting enough.

You will remember I gently opened you that first time. Carefully pulling each page, spreading you wide, but only wide enough to read those words on the inside edge. Your spine held stiff and solid in my hand.

When was it that my reverence transformed to a carelessness? Which chapter, which page, which sentence tightened my grip and loosened my control? I don’t recall. I intended to maintain my dignity and treat you with care, because you are a book, a thing worthy of my highest respect. But you grabbed me, pulled me inside, and hijacked me.

Was it crumbs settling into your crease or a splash of coffee that first foretold my hunger? That peanut butter fingerprint tells me we breakfasted together. Did I use the jar to prop you open, or was this when your spine was carelessly cracked to splay you for my convenience?

I shoved you in my bag. Is this where your cover was torn? I dropped you. Saving myself instead, I allowed you to tumble down the stairs. But it was your fault I was walking and reading. I have no self-control.

However, I did not drop you into the bath. Yes, I see your bottom edge grazed the water, but I did save you that time. I should get points for that, even if I caught you with my wet hand.

I apologize for turning your corners down. This is an unforgivable transgression I know. I will try to not do this to others in the future. I will likely fail to keep this promise.

I only wrote a few notes. Your margins are mostly clear of my reactions, but when I opened you up again I remember our first time together. Have I have changed?

I’m sorry. I’m not sorry for the way I’ve treated you, but I am sorry that my attention has gone elsewhere. I’m sorry that so many sit unopened, uncracked, un-dropped, un-dogeared, pristine. Let’s meet again at breakfast and in all those random moments of opportunity. Let’s spend a day, a weekend even, together again. I will keep this promise.

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    Comment was deleted

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    💜 love Forgotten. For Now. 🤗

    I feel you! Been so long since a long weekend with good (non medical) book! Now it’s spend either sleeping…

    or kdrama. 😂

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    Thank you for the beautiful writing, @egads. I have similar feelings toward my sheet music….except perhaps with a slight sense of perverted pleasure. When seeing crumpled corners and pencil markings all over the page somehow that visually translates into evidence that I have worked hard! 😅

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    How lovely!

    Reading was my favorite pastime. My neglected love, hardly visited these days.

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    ~Love, love~
    Oh, this is so so so amazing and thank you for writing it. My math books are still treated like that and read with that passion.

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    The last books i can actually remember reading until the end were the Harry Potter books. I like buying books with the intention to read, but it usually ends up on my bookshelf, untouched 😥. Reading books was once my favourite past time before i got hooked with watching dramas and end up reading subtitles more than books. Huhu

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    What a beautiful post. I want to say the same to all the books lying unread, at home. 😊

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    But, I feel like writing notes in books give you good memories. Like how deeply you analyzed it, and loved certain passages. But turning corners down hurts my soul just thinking about it.

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    how nostalgic
    i used to not be able to live without books but at some point in time, i ceased reading anything not related to work and watch dramas instead..

    i think i’ve gotten lazier

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    ^_^ I feel the same towards my books ~ when I was in highschool, I used to eat doritos while reading, and many of my favorite books from that time can be identified by the cheesy fingerprints.

    But books are meant to be read and loved, I’ll never be a person able to have books that are just meant to be “looked” at. Our love for them seems much to passionate and volatile for that (are we the abusers in this relationship? or are they for getting us so obsessed? 😉 )

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      I actually deleted some lines as I was writing that sounded straight out of a domestic abusers mouth. I thought it might be a bit much for DB, but might go with it on a rewrite, because it is kind of an abusive relationship. But all in the name of love.

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    This is so eloquently written, Egads! Wish my unedited 4am rambles turned out like this. 😂 And oh, how I relate to your words. *caresses my nearby books fondly* I’m so neglectful, yet I want to spend more time with them, too.

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    Where do I even begin. What a tribute–to books and all those who love them! It’s probably too much to copy and paste the whole thing in here again and say “I love this part and this part and this part” right? Well, I MOST love that the “I’m sorry” at the end is not for the way you’ve treated Book. (And this: “However, I did not drop you into the bath. Yes, I see your bottom edge grazed the water, but I did save you that time. I should get points for that, even if I caught you with my wet hand.” Lololol so great.)

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    So great and lovely piece , all hail to books 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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    Damn, I was also planning to open the month with a Love of Reading but was pre-empted! I blame the Polar Vortex.
    I actually miss reading. I miss opening a book and being sucked into its world but it seems to take time I don’t have. At least with TV I can do other things, when I read I just read.

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      You can still open with Love of Reading. It’s true, reading requires your full attention, and I’m rarely doing just one thing at a time. Thus, TV tends to win my entertainment attention.

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    “I’m sorry. I’m not sorry for the way I’ve treated you, but I am sorry that my attention has gone elsewhere. I’m sorry that so many sit unopened, uncracked, un-dropped, un-dogeared, pristine. Let’s meet again at breakfast and in all those random moments of opportunity. Let’s spend a day, a weekend even, together again. I will keep this promise.” Just gorgeous. 🌻

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I\’ve decided Bae Doo-na should be in everything. I realize this will be a strain for her time-wise, but I like her, so she should do this for me.

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    Kingdom–I like it so far.

    Ju Ji-hoon also seems to be representing heavily in my recent playlist. Not a bad thing.

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    Don’t actors live to please selfish kdrama fans??????

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    I completely agree. But if we think that Bae Doo-na should be allowed to sleep every now and then, she could just be in everything that Netflix produces.

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    Yes, I will subscribe to your newsletter.

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    Bae Doona is love. I couldn’t agree more.

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    Bae doona sent her message for you..

    With all due regard, No!

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    I miss curling Bae Doo Na. Maybe she should act in your curling drama next.

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    Yes please!!
    Though I wish there was more screentime for her in Kingdom.

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      and take time from zombie.. bah! where is the fun in that..

      zombie drama is zombie drama.. focus on the zombie 😛

      Cranberry’s zombie.. or kim jun ho zombie

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        Ah!! Dolores O’Riordan, miss her : (
        Had to google ‘kim jun ho zombie’ and saw the video!. Too bad our Zombies don’t say much but just run like crazy.

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    I’ve thought this for a while. I’m still annoyed I couldn’t fit Matrimonial Chaos into my viewing schedule. Hell maybe I should watch that right now.

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    Welcome to the fan club. She makes everything 100% better and that’s an understatement. I’ve never agreed with something as much as I agree with this.

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      I was a fan of BDA before I watched a single kdrama. She was riveting in Sense 8.

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The Last Empress just keeps being crazy great. It’s getting quite difficult to remember Hyuk is not good person, and I do understand his need to vent some rage with bullets here. Also, that coat.

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    I also love that the Emperor drinks his instant coffee in cheap paper cups. He is wholly invested in the true experience.

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      There is nothing about Royal Hotness that he does not give 110% to: instant coffee, dating, cheating, murder, remorse for said murder…

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    Royal hotness keeps being hot despite it all. Amazing aim he has, he didnt hit anyone in that car, just enough bullets to scare them off. And, yes..that coat!

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      He’s evolving. If this had happened in the first half of the drama, the reporters would have been hit, but his newfound conscious just had him scare them a little. I love when a character grows.

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Judging the MoA finale reactions it might be best if I don\’t bother with the last episode. In my head, all questions are answered, Secretary Seo is alive and well, and the \”romance\” was just a virus.

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    Skip the finale, dream up your own ending.

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    I was behind with this week’s finale. I only finished episode 15 several hours ago. Then I checked the fan wall. I decided to skip it. I think I’ll fall asleep tonight much better.

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