Proust as sleeping potion

It's a sad commentary when one reads a single page of Proust and falls asleep.   Of course, it was late and I am pretty tired these days from the holiday tasks along with the household tasks, getting regular exercise, writing, editing, more writing, volunteer work for writing orgs, and keeping up with all the newspapers and magazines.  It's a full life.  And oftimes, a tiring one.  Hence, dropping off on poor Proust.  Still at one of the endless receptions.  This time the narrator is afraid that he wasn't REALLY invited.  Silly boy.

References to hidden homosexuality.  Man, were those guys (and girls) ever in the closet.  With the door barred, the lights out, and hiding behind the shoes.  Must have been very stressful.  I was in college before I knew there was such a thing as a lesbian.

So we're off to do a little last minute shopping, totally unlike moi to wait for the ultimate minute.   The older you get, the less clothing, shoes, new furniture, STUFF, you need.  You need more time and a bit of a nap every day.  Hence, Proust. 

My bad!

Odette