I am sick. I am diagnosed with a chronic illness only bookworms can understand what it feels like. For sure, if you find it out, you might bubble an idea of idiosyncrasies.
I am sick. Whenever I drop into my favorite stomping ground, it takes me time to decide whether I should buy the ones I have dug out from the mountain of books. Thinking about the moral consequences I could face in the future. How much do I still have in my purse? Have I checked the list of the monthly fees I have to get by on? Could I sacrifice allotting my little stipend ? My brain is undecided, up in the air. One at a time, another thoughts dictating to my vulture brain , saturated with guilty pleasures. It wants to wolf down on a genre : Galileo’s Daughter. Shit! It is a historical non-fiction. I love such genre. Restless, I looked around, paging through the books, peering at their spines , assuming an air of pretense that I wanted to buy them. I was in a dilemma of choosing what is right or wrong. Then…then…then..somewhere the darkest corner of my mind comes the sound , “ Get on with it!You are gonna finish another one.” Here we go! putting back the book. Haist! Here it goes again. A guilty feeling is coming over me. My mind and conscience are engaging in a dispute.
Good Grief! (sighs)