Какво ли не съм научила от книгите

• 
  What an erection and wetness are and how they relate to each other
• Where the clitoris is and how it works
• How to masturbate

(in three separate books)

• What to study in university, what to do with my life
• McDonald's menu
• "Контрата е винаги у жената" ("Нощем с белите коне")
• Колкото по-възрастна е една жена, толкова по-светла трябва да е косата й ("Само в Лондон")

Poetry

I've never been particularly fond of poetry, and I've never quite understood the appeal of it. I recognize it can evoke emotions and, as a language-schooled person, I can appreciate its unique use and moulding of language, but I'm just not a fan. However, since there is a certain holiday coming in the middle of the month, and I signed up for a related event on the CoS boards, I found myself re-reading the few poetry books I have, and thinking that there is something about poems after all. I also found out that my tastes and the way I form a liking to a particular piece have changed.

My current favourite is Love by Atanas Dalchev, which seems to exert a powerful pull on the pleasure centre of my brain; plus it makes me chase the sources of its exremely strong, dense aroma, gets me weighing and analysing its words and images, rummaging through the net of meanings it creates - and all that also gives me immense pleasure. It's like magic, really. There are three pointsin it which create the poem's plane - the scarlet tomato, the green eyes and the nail, shining like a star - they are like beacons, casting a soft light over the rest of the poem and revealing its delicate structure and a certain very distinct exquisite quality. It's a gem, a delight. I tried to translate it into English, but failed completeley... Here it is in its original Bulgarian:

Над старото тържище ален
бе залезът като домат
и все тъй строен, все тъй млад
стоеше бедният хамалин.

Засипваше дрезгавина
очите, веждите му вече,
но не дойде и тази вечер
зеленооката жена,

която го веднъж повика
с очи, със поглед, без слова
и зарад тежкия товар
му заплати една усмивка.

Да би дошла и тази нощ. . .
да би му станала невеста. . .
до гроба би я носил весел
на гръб в широкия си кош.

И всеки гвоздей от обущата му
би грял в нощта като звезда,
когато долу през града
към къщи с нея ще се спуща.

Сънуваше ли? Сам в света,
хамалинът стоеше влюбен.
И мракът от лика му груб бе
изтрил и сетната черта.

I am also particularly fond of Emily Dickinson and her acutely characteristic verses.

Mad about lists

Yes, I am. Plus I'm bored, so I thought I'd post one of those on here. A list of my current addictions (because I'm soooo easily hooked and right now they're all there is in my life).

Level of addiction measured on a 1 to 5 scale, where 1 is a persistent interest, and 5 is embedded-in-my-life-probably-forever.

• Harry Potter. Started 2001, been growing ever since. 5
• House MD. A brand new one. Side effects include annoyance if I go 12 hours without seeing an episode and a mild form of hypochondria. 2
• Coffee. 1
• Tea. (yes, addicted to both!) 4
• Chocolate. Now this one I believe is actually biological. 5
• Drama!!! Oh, my favourite one. I love drama, I create if where it's scarce and I relish a full-blown dramatic scene with zest bordering on exhilaration. 5

By the way, I lived an old dream of mine last night - rode in a car with Depeche Mode with enhanced bass on and me singing along :D