Why do I torture myself that way on the
weekends?
I know weekends are supposed to be for
rest & relaxation. I know that weekends are supposed to be the
time to check out for a few days and take a mental vacation. I know
that. I also know that those 48 (or whatever) hours are supposed to
be sacred, and supposed to be used for brain dead activities.. I
know that.
Then why have I been playing with this
book the past few weekends?
Yes, that's what it looks like. It's a
puzzle book. With puzzles in French. That's what any normal person
would do to relax on the weekend, right?
Please say “right”.
I saw the book in one of those discount
book catalogs from which Loraine and I have built the piles of books
on our kitchen floor. I figured it would be fun, and it might help
me keep my rusty French skills a little less rusty. The first few
puzzles in it were, well, fun. They were easy, and I was actually
impressed by the fact that I was able to finish them. But then I got
to what the book describes as the “moderatee” section, and
that's when the fun ended. I apparently ran into the limits of my
French, and spent the next few hours alternating between thumbing
through my massive French dictionary for a little help and uttering
little yelps of pain that caused Loraine to look at me with that look
I get when I'm doing something a normal person would perceive as
stupid.
That's a good way to spend part of a
weekend, right?
The thing is that despite the pain I
actually did have a little fun torturing myself. Heck, I might even
have learned a new French word or two. Whether or not that's what a
sane person should (or would) do with a couple of their precious
weekend hours is debatable; I just know that's how I spent a few of
my precious weekend hours, for better or for worse.
And yes, I know I need help. What's
your point?
8-)
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