i was feeling a little uneasy when i went to bed last night but couldn’t quite put my finger on the cause. my mind ticked down the list of possibilities. did i take my meds? turn the iron off? check my e-mail (one last time)? no task seemed undone so off to bed i went.
a few hours later i woke up for a bathroom break and could not get back to sleep. as i wandered toward my reading chair it hit me. i was bookless! i had finished the weight of silence by heather gudenkauf and john grisham’s short story collection yesterday. i hurriedly headed for my bookcase in the art room, confident that i would be able to unearth a gem of an unread tome . nothing new showed its face. i considered rereading an old favorite like my antonia by willa cather or margaret atwood’s the handmaid’s tale. but my mind was thirsty for a new read, some racy literary speed.
i ended up reading the latest issue midwest living but it was hard to concentrate. my mind was racing trying to make a tough decision. My heart thumped with excitement as i pondered “should i go to barnes & noble or borders at lunch tomorrow?