The other night I did a scandalous, scandalous thing and left my house to go out after Bug was in bed. It was wild, it was crazy, it was 45 minutes until closing when I got there. I went to the library.

I read books like they are food and I am the dying person that has been on a long trek through the desert. I devour them. This is great for casual reading, not so great for med school reading. It’s like my eyes are on speed – they can’t slow down. So I always seem to end up with the general gist of a book and no actual details. Again, a technique that works fine for magazines, but sucks for medical textbooks.

And I am conditioned to select books based on their jacket design, which means I read a lot of crap books. But I see a bright pink book with swirly script and a flower and I think “OOOOH, preeetty preeetty book!” And then after I check out I realize it’s some book called “Shoe Addicts Anonymous” or “1000 Reasons to Kiss a Boy” or some other heinous thing and I have to fight the irresistible urge to hide it under my shirt as I walk to the car.

Sometimes I’m smart though and I actually read the inside flap. This helps a lot. When I do this I’m saved from books that are summed up like this one that I picked up because it had a preeetty preetty picture of a woman looking out at the ocean on the front:

After Angelica Amante defied her wealthy parents wishes and married an illiterate Mexcian stable hand, Antonio Perez, she thought their love had overcome the biggest hurdle they would ever face. But just as Angelica throws herself into her work as a defense attorney, she discovers she is pregnant and her world is turned UPSIDE DOWN.

Man, that same situation JUST happened to me. It’s so weird how books can mirror life, isn’t it?

Anyway, while I won’t be reading any Tolstoy or Dickens anytime soon, I can give myself a modest goal. Check out more books WITHOUT a “Y” on the spine than books WITH a “Y” on the spine. Because “Y” stands for Young Adult, and when you’re pushing thirty, reading books called “Prom Anonymous” or “L8r G8r” just really isn’t acceptable. Unless you’ve JUST left med school and need a mental break. But a year later, you just need to stop. It’s become a sickness.

Now I’m going to get back to my novel, “Househusband”. Hey, it’s not Faulkner, but we’re talking baby steps here.