When I started this blog, oh so long ago, I wanted to post every day.  At least until it became a habit.  But I have another habit.  No, it isn’t collecting job-application rejections.  It’s reading.  More specifically, it’s books.  Actual page-and-ink books.  I have a lot of them.  I try not to dog-ear the pages or crack the spines, but I read them.  Well, I’ve read most of the ones I have.

When Borders was open, I practically lived there.  It is a known fact that being in bookstore lowers my blood-pressure to the point of Zen.  It doesn’t really matter what bookstore we’re talking, but Borders had a special place in my heart, and there was one close to my flat in Glasgow.  And so, I was there a lot.  I have this thing where I cannot leave a bookstore without buying a book or 3.  I’ve amassed quite a pile of unread ones, because I can buy even faster than I read.  It isn’t about the buying, it’s about the books.  I’m just as greedy in libraries.  Or with friends who say, ‘Here, read this!’

Remember the list-that-this-blog-isn’t-about? Item 10a. would be: Read all the books I’ve left unread/people have thrown at me.

Sounds simple.  Until we get to 10b.:

Do not buy another book for myself until 10a. is checked off (except The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets’ Nest).  I bought The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets’ Nest, because my list said so.  But then I bought more.  And so, I crashed on that one. I crashed like IE crashes.

One I bought quite recently was The Brooklyn Follies, by Paul Auster.  I didn’t write yesterday, because I was finishing it.  See, at least my reading turn-over is getting quicker.  Anyway.

Paul Auster is one of my favourite authors.  Reading one of his books is like going home.  And I’m not just talking about the setting.  (Although, New York is one of my homes.  That’s another post.)  I find his writing so effortless.

I finished TBF and started The Death of Bunny Munro by Nick Cave (which I borrowed from the library, and my boyfriend read it before me.)  After Bunny, it’s Frida: A Biography of Frida Kahlo. (To be read for book group, and borrowed from a friend.)  I call all this multi-booking.  Like multi-tasking, only with more words.

Speaking of more words, there will be more of them on this blog.  After a weekend of bagpipes, poker and baseball in Glasgow.  Strange mix, but so am I.

Now, I wonder what book I’ll read on the train tomorrow?

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