The Sasquatch has set me upon a very dangerous path - dangerous insomuch as it may keep Unemployment Girl here from fully attending to job hunting needs for a few days.
Baaaad, rare arboreal creature! Baaaaad!
What has he done? You may well ask. The Sasquatch has introduced me to the Dark Tower series, a rather good bit of writing by Stephen King. Seven books in all, each one a heftier tome than the one that comes before. I would like to say that I sat down and read the first book in one great bite, but that would do a great disservice to my oversized hirsute friend, for he read the first 50 pages of The Gunslinger to me in my car late Friday night. He even procured books two and three for me at a wonderfully musty used bookstore and loaned me his pristine editions of books one and four.
I finished consuming the first book just as the sun set yesterday. I had found a nice comfy leather chair at Mayorga, and, fueled by two iced cafe mochas, I burned through that baby. And then, like a total glutton, I started book two last night. Something happens at the beginning of book two, The Drawing of the Three - and I mean, like five pages in - that actually had me smack the book down and start yowling and shouting obscenities of the "NO F'ING WAY!!!" variety. It was colorful. I'm sure the neighbors appreciated it.
I stopped twice last night to check the time. I discovered that, from constant focus on small print, my distance vision was a hideous blur, and it took a good 15 seconds to be able to read the inch-high digital numbers clocking the time on the cable box only 8 feet away. Damn, I thought, I need to take a break. And then, immediately returned to the book. I finally set it down at 3:30 this morning. Aaaaannnnd picked the damn thing right back up again when I woke up.
I finally remembered that having breakfast and taking a pee break was a Supremely Good Idea. Rather pathetically, I was still in my pajamas when I finished the book at 2 this afternoon. Ye gods.
So, here it is - Sunday night. No housework done. No resumes sent out, but, by god, I'm 315 pages into book three, The Waste Lands. I swear to god, I'm not reading more tomorrow. I'm taking a break. I'm gonna get me a job. I'm gonna go to the gym. Ooooh, wait - book three is one of the broken-back paperbacks the Sasquatch bought me. Ooooh, I can take that with me to the gym. Treadmill an hour, read some more...
I've been so wrapped up in Stuff lately, I'd forgotten how wonderful it is to get completely immersed in A Good Book. (Or seven.) I could have been anywhere today. I was separated from the reality of my world. I didn't remember that I lived in an overpriced corner of suburban sprawl. I had no sense of being a few miles from the White House. I had no thoughts of being a handful of bills away from poverty. It was just me and a large, used paperback and a totally different world. What a lovely thing that is!
Dammit, Sasquatch. I blame you. (And I thank you, all at once - you stand at the heart of my ka-tet, you know.)