Gray and dreary, and I just realized it will be getting dark in three hours. Three hours. Got to start getting up earlier. Like that’s going to happen. Feeling the usual not that great today. Yesterday was better. There are good days here and there. It’s not all fog and pain and exhaustion. Thank goodness. Snow is all gone, but it was pretty while it lasted.
Think I’m going to couch and read for a bit. I am reading The Witch Elm, by Tanya French. Different from her other books I’ve read, but good. I read all of the Faith Martin Hillary Greene books, and I’ve read In The Woods by French, among the zillion other books I have read. I like mysteries. I’ve read all of the Spenser books, all the Agatha Christie books, several times, all the Sherlock books, again several times, Nero Wolfe, Dick Francis, that’s all I can think of in the midst of brain fog. I usually go for a mystery or a non-fiction. I have always been a reader, from before I knew how and would pretend to read the paper. I’m done. Too tired and too foggy to really think about what I am writing here, so hope it makes sense. Happy November, everyone!
strangely peculiar 
I started with light romances by Jenny Colgan because it’s all my brain could process, and now I’m in the middle of Sandra Dallas’s books; they stand alone but are all tied together. Anything deep and my brains says, “Nope, not happening. Try again next year.”
Oh, the one with the puffin. Can’t think of the name, but I loved it. The Little Beach Street Bakery? It’s the only one of hers I’ve read, though.
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Yeah, the Puffin. And that’s the name. I started with The Bookshop on the Corner and went from there.