By dint of barely leaving my chair other than for domestic necessities, I've managed my goal of finishing number 11, Crime and Punishment, this weekend. I always get to a point of wanting to finish something even when I'm loving it, and this one has kept me engaged and troubled for weeks at about 5 pages a night, but I was ready for a bit of immersion and have finally had it.
I wasn't expecting a happy ending! (Though you must admit he's no Agatha Christie - I mean, I'd worked out who did it almost straight away....)
The welshman has done his part by completer-finishing some shelves, so all's good and organised and I get to start thinking about new things. Knitting-wise, it's a sock, I suppose I should say a pair of socks, though one seems hard enough; on the reading front I'll be choosing something else from the ebook reader, though I don't yet know what, but perhaps I'll take a day or two away from fiction and start 14 Galbraith's The Affluent Society which I found in a pelican the other day and is calling to me.
Why have I skipped 13? Not superstition: I just haven't talked yet about Gilead, which is essentially a sequel to Home but left me so bereft that I've not yet geared up the strength to write about it. I will.