I’m overwhelmed with books and my eyes hurt. I’m broke. I go out not planning to spend money and I find myself tucked away in the back-back of a used bookstore on Avenue B. And my back pains and disjointed commute have prevented me from carrying books on the subway like I used to, so now I take the New Yorker, Wired, and my own mag.
It’s just as well. Now I have a good 45 minutes of bathtub reading.
But the stack of books keeps growing. It’s also taking me forever to get through A Room with a View. Then I have The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, The Magic Mountain, and The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. You know, those are just the ones stacked up closest to me.
Don’t even get me started on the movies. I restarted Netflix and haven’t watched the dvd in the red sleeve on my desk for a month. Sorry, Manhattan Murder Mystery, I might just send you back from whence you came for more Fellini. I am hungry to watch 8½. And I can’t do that in the bathtub.