On Library Books.

I love the library. Growing up, I was the girl whose mother refused to drive in more than once a week. If I had been able to drive at seven — or see over the wheel, or reach the pedals, or drive stick — I would’ve gone down every other day.

Luckily, I don’t live with my mother anymore (though I still don’t know how to drive stick).  I can bring myself to the library as often as I like, and since I’ve gone a little crazy requesting titles that sometimes means a few days in a row.  I’m serious when I say “crazy.”  Let’s put it this way: the last time I went in, the librarian was surprised I was only borrowing five books.

Those five brought my stack of borrowed books up to twenty-three, all of which I lugged up to Maine with me this past week.  My goal was to get through half, and even though I didn’t, I came pretty damn close with eleven (more on those specific titles in a later post).

I’m not taking bets on how fast I’ll be able to read through my stack, but I will tell you that if I feel strongly about any of the titles, you’ll be hearing about it.

Oh, and here’s my new thing with reading: if I’m not captured by the end of the first page, the book goes back.  There’s just too many books out there to read, and sometimes I just have to act like a mercenary.

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