It's been a long time since I read. Properly read, I mean. (Glancing at the morning headlines, and occasionally racing through a bestseller don't count.)

My previous job sucked me dry and spit me out so that all I could do at the end of each day was collapse and sleep. My eyes ached from the Excel sheets. My mind was a mush from the inane everyday Honey Singh banter. It wasn't my fault. Or maybe it was, for letting the job take away far more than it gave back.

Enough of the whining, though. The thing is, the job is gone. The mush is gone. The roommate has purchased a new bookshelf, and my life is brilliant again. The colours are brighter. The coffee is stronger. There is a spring in my steps. And I can read again. Oh sweet, blessed, glorious words. How I have missed you.

I am currently in the middle of Joseph Anton, and wondering why this wasn't read before. Such sheer perfection, it is. I wake up every morning, and sit beside the window for a while before going to work. Looking at the sunshine. Reading my book. And generally contemplating life.

My heart, as they say, is happy.