Yesterday morning my husband woke up to find me under the covers, reading with a flashlight. I woke up early to read and I knew he would get up soon and I didn't want to crawl out of my toasty bed. I also didn't want to wake him with the light - so there I was. I started my morning session around page 150 of New Moon by Stephanie Meyer, the second of her Twilight series.
I started Twilight on the bus on Monday on my way to New York. I finished on Tuesday.
I finished New Moon yesterday, Thursday.
I am chomping at the bits to start the third one which is in my living room and I have promised myself that I MUST MUST MUST get some work done before I can begin on it. But, even now, I am wondering how long I will hold out.
This is my problem. This is why I don't read that much. Because if a book is ho-hum, I'll just drop it. I don't care. But if it hooks me and the only think keeping me from knowing what happens next is my own power to turn the page - I can not help myself. I will read at every opportunity I get. One book is not so bad. I can finish it quickly and reclaim my life and my productive habits. But a FOUR BOOK series - that takes a chunk out of my life.
My house is a mess. The laundry has been sitting in the dryer for days. I don't care. Every spare moment goes to the books. I will only be free when I am done. And then, I will be a little sad about it. But I can read them again - not soon. But later, when I have some time and I bet, then, that I will be able to keep it under control at least a little bit better.
At least I hope.