where she went

When you read a lot, there’s bound to be a moment of “what next?” The lives of the characters continue outside the pages, the shelves grow lighter and you run out of books to read. Especially, if you’re a picky reader like me.

About a week ago, I was elected as a member of a board of directors to a not-so-small-but-not-quite-large organisation. “What have I gotten myself into?” I muttered to myself, as the results were announced. In fact, I only agreed to be a candidate because I thought I’m not popular enough to be voted in. The joke ended up being on me.┬áMy mother had only one comment on that: “Well, you’ve never liked new things.”

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unnecessary beginnings

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As heavy raindrops fall like a grey curtain, there is nothing that I want more than wrapping myself in a blanket and cuddling up with a good book. Perhaps get a cup of hot chocolate, rest my head on a heavy hardcover and linger. It is decently cold here, the summer weather turned to early winter, so it would be perfect to warm this healing heart.

During the last few weeks, I’ve devoured more books than I’ve cared to remember.Yet I have hardly written a word. Today, I started reading Markus Zusak’s “I am the messenger” and I am halfway through. The ugly, neon pink sticky note marks the 51% of the book. The pages smell like dust.

I don’t borrow many books from library, preferring to stack up my own bookshelves. Taking care of them takes forever. Though there is nothing more comforting than that.