I was at the library on Sunday picking out DVD’s and suddenly I started ravaging the new fiction shelves. Like a rabid literary villian, I started stacking them in my arms.
I looked left…
then right …
and dashed to check out elbowing children out of my way before my conscious could reprimand me for these indiscretions.
It was done.
When I arrived home, I saw my stack of neglected books from my 2010 booklist in the corner and felt instant “I abandoned my original children, but adopted a few more for kicks” guilt. Studs Turkel, still stained from a vegetable soup spill a few weeks ago, lay mournfully on top of Pride and Prejudice and James Joyce, still in the bookshelf, mocked me openly “Project Runway: Season 2…really?”
I’ll get to them. I swear.