Reading

Last Tuesday the knot in my neck and the messed-up shoulder blade were giving me a royal headache -- a headache humongous enough that I (anti-pill gal that I am) ran for the bottle of pain killers.  Well, that's a lie.  I didn't run; I hurt too badly.  But I took drugs nonetheless.  At one point in the afternoon, Maggie walked into the living room to find me reading and lying on the couch, grimacing as the electric back massager pounded my back and neck.  She blurted out, "MOM!  You're lying on the couch, reading.  You haven't done that in years!"

Right.  I hadn't done that in years.

I wish I could. 

My friend Jane reads.  She reads even more than I used to once-upon-a-time.  Which means she now reads more in a week than I do in a year.  Every November and December, when my friends set out their reading goals and their reading challenges for the new year, I sigh and try not to be too jealous.  But this year, Jane has set up her own challenge which is small enough that it might be possible even for me. 

I think I'm going to gather a list of books.

The worst that can happen is that I fail to meet the challenge.

I hate promising things that I might not be able to keep.

So no promises that I'll succeed.

Nevertheless, I will begin compiling a list that might, possibly, maybe, be read.