My obsession is pretty harmless as compulsions go. I’ve been under its spell for as long as I can remember and I make no apologies. My adolescent self could rip through an entire pile of Nancy Drew mysteries within a few days and I frequently employed by under-the-covers flashlight after curfew. I kickstarted my kids’ obsessions for books with their own library card before they could even walk. And what DO people do on a beach without a book (or three)?
I confess. I’m a book junkie.
Through the years, my tastes may have changed but my addiction to the written word is still in full swing. When my super smart youngest daughter was still living at home, we craved our Barnes and Nobles Friday night soirees. Indulging our reading addiction was about as wild and crazy as we got. We’re just such badasses.
Every time the library called to tell me the book(s) I reserved were in and needed to be picked up, I’d do my happy dance. My kids rolled their eyes. It might have had something to do with the Jenga pile of books in my bedroom still begging to be read. What might be (slightly) worse is that my book case holds many back-up, wanna-be-reads and possibilities, patiently bi their time in the sun that never seems to come.
You can find magic everywhere you look. Just sit down and read a book. Dr. Seuss
In all these years, I never joined a book club because, well, I’m just that much of a renegade. Plus I need my freedom to choose. Don’t even get me started about going to a movie and comparing it to the book because the book usually wins. And how about when a really great story you haven’t been able to put down finally ends? What kind of author DOES that to people?
I like big books and I cannot lie.
Books wait for me to join them at the end of the day. They sit patiently, ready to both entertain — and put me to sleep. Some nights only few pages get read before sleep takes over; others, until I glance at the clock, I’d never know a hour and 8 chapters have passed Apparently, my eyes compete with my need to find out what happens next. I can’t count how many times my husband removed my glasses and said book from my sleeping form.
Can you admit to sighing with annoyance when someone asks a question at a critical part in the story? Does the word ‘bookaholic’ ring a happy bell? People who warn about the dangers of walking while you’re on the phone never saw someone book in their face. Now THAT’s scary. Continue reading
Once upon a time, the phrase ‘single Awareness Day’ seemed a pretty cool gotcha. When Valentines Day becomes a neon sign to solos that screams “Nope, not you”, re-framing the holiday doesn’t feel like that bad an idea. Depending on your frame of mind, this celebration of love can seem sensational, saccharine, or just plain sad. This holiday of hearts can be a real kicker when you’re single. Valentine’s Day could use a slight makeover.
No hot chicken wings. No nachos. No hair-on-fire chili graced my house this past weekend. Super Bowl Sunday was a non-starter. I do admit to some cheese, but then there’s ALWAYS cheese. I don’t have one piece of licensed sports apparel and am completely guilt-free. The only yelling at the TV heard in my house were knee-jerk reactions to political reporting (which pretty much happens every day.) As both the most un-athletic fan in the room and a self-described renegade, the whole concept of the Super Bowl excites me as much as a Zombie Apocalypse. The hallowed sports day happened – it just didn’t happen here.
write brain widow 