People can prattle on, endlessly, about the suckiness of Mondays.
I don’t love Mondays, either. But the real asshole day of the week, to my mind, is Sunday.
Sunday was always the day of reckoning. The day I realized that 10 page essays would not suddenly appear under my pillow, courtesy of the Essay Fairy. That there was no way in hell I’d be able to finish the science project about levers at 10 pm on the night before they were due.
Today? Was no exception.
I knew I had book club coming up. And then I realized it was on Thursday. 4 days away. I didn’t even have the book, much less a start on it. But I wasn’t worried. These things generally work out.
I drove across town to the Big Chain Bookstore. The more rational people (i.e. the rest of the city) had stayed home rather than brave the crap weather, so I pretty much had the joint to myself. The 15 person lineup at the Starbucks kiosk wasn’t there, so I ambled over, grabbed a coffee. I browsed, uber-leisurely. Spent time in the sections I never go into. (You say Economics, I say Snoozefest, but hey, I had some time to kill.)
I checked my notes, looked for the name of the author. Kate Mosse. (Shit, that heroin-riddled skinny bitch published a book, and I can’t even get an angry letter to the editor printed? Oh, wait a minute, Kate Mosse, not Moss. Whew, hit to the self-esteem, narrowly averted.)
I get to the “M” section. Find the book.
And then I turn it sideways.
(For the sake of reference, that’s last month’s pick, beside it.)
Oh holy fuck.
This book is damn near 700 pages.
I have 4 days. Which seems like a lot of time. Except I have, like, a LIFE to get through.
So now, the question is this:
Do I ignore my kids, leave the dishes unwashed, the sidewalk unshoveled, and my personal hygiene unattended to, and read the living shit out of this thing?
Or do I go back, and buy this book?