2022-04-28

sovay: (Sydney Carton)
The cold moved into my chest. I have spent the majority of this week running a moderate fever—this afternoon marked my first normal temperature in almost two weeks, which is just stupid—and coughing exhaustedly and painfully around the clock. I have seen one doctor already and will be seeing more tomorrow; in the meantime I have slept very little and consumed a lot of soup and milkshakes and homemade lemon-ginger-honey. Thanks to the good offices of [personal profile] selkie, I read Frances B. Singh's Scandal and Survival in Nineteenth-Century Scotland: The Life of Jane Cumming (2020) which could have used more queer theory and less jargon about trauma, but which is invaluable just for the chapter situating its subject in the context of mixed-race children sent home like Raj orphans of the late eighteenth century by their fathers in the East India Company. I prefer paper books if I can get them, so I am pleased to have just acquired Winifred Holtby's South Riding (1936). I have watched about half a dozen movies and I have no idea if I will be able to say anything of interest about any of them. The most recent at least caused me and [personal profile] spatch to generate art in self-defense. It is much colder than I appreciate for the clarity of the sunlight, but I walked around the block and looked at some flowering trees.

Page generated 2025-06-13 06:17
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios