At some point, I’m sure I’ll Learn Not To Read a Book In One Sitting…

… but it won’t be any time soon.  I finished White Fire (an Agent Pendergast mystery) and had some of those moments that you read for.  The kind that put you so fully in what is happening that maybe you cry a little, and laugh, and do that laugh sob thing.

I love everything about reading.  I love the smell of paper, or the novelty of e-ink.  I love bookmarks in all the permutations of kind; from fancy ornate metal bookmarks, to the receipts or small ripped pieces of paper people use.  I love finding things people have left in books.

For certain, I have more epic dreams if I’ve read before bed than if I’ve been watching a show.  I sleep better too.

One supposes it’s possible for one to read too much and not experience enough, but I rather think that reading sparks the desire for experience in ways other mediums do not.

I need a garret with a window seat, a basket of apples, and a cup of properly brewed tea… and the stack of books I have in queue to read.

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