Moriarty is now my favorite mommy lit author. I very highly recommend her. I usually read Moriarty as I lie on the floor next to Klara’s bed, waiting for her to fall asleep. I hold the Kindle under the bed, so the light doesn’t disturb Klara. It’s perfect.

The novel has a fantastic depiction of the psychosexual mechanisms of violent relationships. It gets a bit soppy at the end in an obligatory nod to political correctness but all the way until then it’s really honest. It’s possible nobody will be able to publish such brutally honest writing on this subject before long.

I watched a few episodes of the TV show based on the novel, and it’s cute, but everything is simplified to the point where it’s a parody of the novel. Complicated, interesting plotlines and characters of the novel are treated in a hamhanded way.

As I said, the novel could do without the last 40 or so pages, but the rest is very enjoyable. Obviously, it’s not a work of art but what kind of a freak can deal with art while lying under their toddler’s bed trying not to breathe?

My unusual deed for the day was a bit pathetic: I took a caffeine pill, which is unheard of for me. But I didn’t get enough sleep and spent all day walking around in a daze. I hate this new reality in which I need to sacrifice a third of my life to stupid sleep in order to be able to function.

Why a gallbladder surgery should have caused this is a mystery.

I promise a much more exciting unusual activity tomorrow.

How is it possible that people don’t see the insistent peddling of fake meat as some sort of a green alternative as a blatant marketing ploy that it is?

Cigarettes don’t make you thin. Fake meat won’t save the planet.