...So yesterday, when I said I didn't feel like blogging anymore...
I'm currently reading (actually listening to a book on tape, but "reading" sounds less clunky) The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, and I seriously think I'm going to lose my mind over this book. I love it, and I feel compelled to go take a long drive somewhere so I can hear/read the rest of it. It follows closely on the heels of The Sisters by Nancy Jensen, Juliet by Anne Fortier, The Food of Love by Anthony Capella, The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton, and Garden Spells by Sarah Addison. I have been reading books like a crack addict takes hits lately--apparently hell bent on figuring out my own personal fatal dose. All this reading is effecting my sleep because I'm either 1) staying up late to finish a book or 2) unable to sleep because I'm thinking about a book. The lack of sleep is effecting my health, because due to a lack of rest, the stupid virus that's been hanging out in my body hasn't been sufficiently eradicated. And that in turn has turned me into a bit of a cranky puss, hanging out in my pajamas, and fantasizing about driving to Minnesota just so I can be put out of my misery and find out what happens to Hazel and Gus for crying out loud.
Why do there have to be so many good books in the universe and why do so many of them have to find their way to me?
This also means that I am going to go on a writing binge next. The snow is melting, the birds are chirping. Soon it will be time to revisit springtime in Bearwallow again...
And that, of course, means more writing. And blogging.
See you soon.