The Printed Word Is A Dangerous Thing

I firmly believe I could happily survive the rest of my life in the wilderness all by myself if I had only the following:

1. Food, and a way to easily cook it
2. Water/Coffee/Milk for lattes
3. A computer with a good internet connection
4. A humble abode with maid service
5. Books. Lots and lots of really good books.

Case in point: Friday afternoon I checked out three books from the library by my place of employment. One was an audio book, so it doesn't really count. I started reading this one as I worked at my part-time job checking trailers at the movie theater.

Now, this is no small little paperback dimestore novel here, Interpeeps. This is a Book with a capital B. It contains 464 pages, and each and every one of them kept me interested.

So much so that I ended up staying up until 4:30 a.m. reading. As Hubster came downstairs at 3:30 a.m. to go to work, he just looked at me and shook his head. He's lived with me long enough to know how I get when I have something in print in my hand. Only when the letters started swimming and the black floaty thingies got so bad I could barely see did I put the book down and go to bed.

I finished it at 4 p.m. yesterday, after spending the morning at Mom's. And after I got up from the nap I had to take (see above), I started this one.

And finished it at 6 p.m. this evening.

Is there some sort of 12-step program for book-a-holics? Because Interpeeps? My eyes are SORE.

This is one reason I listen to books on my MP3 player. I can put it down. I can walk away from it - not worry about it. I can go to sleep with someone reading to me, then catch up where I left off the next day. I can do other things besides sit and turn pages for hours on end. I can almost have a life.

Instead of this. This is an addiction.