To tell an anecdote

The point isn’t whether ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ should be the 100th novel I read or would it be an insult if I finish the one I’m currently reading, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, first and let it be 101st, the point is that I managed to waste one full day brooding over this question in indecision.

I’m not a liar by nature (who is?), I try not to even exaggerate when I speak but there is one little lie I deliberately tell people (the keyword being little) – and now I’m writing about it in a blog which would, someday, be public- that I’d watched ‘V for Vendetta’ on November the 5th; I’d watched it on 6th. Why should these, of all things in the world, mean something to me? There was a line in The Illicit Happiness of Other People that went something like: “That’s the problem. Everybody wants to tell a good tale.” It’s something like that at work.

P.S. If you think that I whine about petty issues, that’s really the way it is. I don’t have big problems.

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