(This is entirely non-RA related. Just so you know.)
I am a VORACIOUS reader. My mother once said that the rate at which I read makes it seem as if someone is following me with a knife.
I'm afraid my reading "non-addiction" (heh) has become even worse since we moved to Chicago. Whyzzat?
Because of that evil device known as Kindle.
My Kindle allows me to buy books from the comfort of my own home (which is clearly a win right now, given that I'm crutch-bound for three more weeks). It also allows me to store said books electronically, without having to worry about finding room for them in our cramped urban quarters.
So what do I read? Anything and everything. Except romance. I read history, fiction, historical fiction, biographies, horror, humor, science, spirituality, mysteries, economics, and Jane Austen. (Okay, I know that Jane Austen *is* romance, but it's also biting social commentary. I also watch "Pride and Prejudice" at least once a year. I mean, Colin Firth in tights... oh my!)
Anyway, lately, I've been on a horror jag -- more specifically, a zombie jag. A post-apocalyptic zombie jag. (Yes, I've read "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies." I thought it was okay, but I got bored with it about half way through.) Who knows why? Sometimes I just go through phases.
I finished one such piece of pulp the night before last and promptly started a new mystery. But last night, I dreamt about zombies attacking Eric and me. Having read so many zombie novels, of course, I was prepared and knew exactly what to do: shoot the suckers in the head. But eric was wary of shooting the things. (Don't ask me why. Ask him.) One of the reanimated dead was close at hand and I was out of ammunition, so I picked up a stick of furniture with my left hand and brained the damned thing.
At that point, Eric woke me up. Apparently, I'd been thrashing about and kicking in my sleep, and had just succeeded in whacking the crap out of my bedside table, thereby scattering my glass of water and the various and sundry books and medications I keep there. It was a mess. And I had to clean it all up then, at 3 AM. As I cleaned up, I told Eric about the dream.
When Eric and I finally settled down in the dark to reachieve sleep status, I turned over and punched him in the arm. "Ouch. What was that for?"
"For not listening to me: Shoot first; ask questions later."
Jeez.
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