This was different. I almost feel guilty reporting it. It was a piece of fiction--an actual novel. You see, I can't read. Well, I CAN READ, but if I DO read... a book.. a really gripping book that speaks not just to my mind but to my heart as well.. a book that takes me to an unknown place that I never thought of before and then suddenly care so much about.. and characters that seem so real..that I need to know what they are going to do more than I need to eat or sleep or make dinner..
then I'm toast. It's just like that. Either a book completely grips me and makes me a complete non-functional being, or it is probably not going to get read at all.
I never claimed to be balanced. Don't blame me; it's the book's fault. I could have chosen to knit or reorganize my pantry (again).. or do something on my long list. But for this day, I chose to read.
It was kind of like taking an emotional and intellectual shower, and stepping out on the fresh dry towel, kind of clean and fresh and new.
Now, the book is over. I can go back to eating and sleeping and enjoying life again. Or maybe I should go look for another book?