I carried a girl in my arms for, ballpark, about a hundred horizontal yards today, interrupted by an interlude in an elevator, still lifting her. Not piggy back, in my arms, like a bridegroom carrying his bride over the threshold of their new home. Sure, she's skinny, but also tall. In any event, it damn near killed me, but I did it, and had an S.K.P. Machine moment along the way. Almost to our destination, my conscious mind decided to set her down, just for a spell. But something within me refused. It didn't harangue, it didn't insult, it wasn't even angry; a voice chockablock with cold, steely determination simply said, "No." No, I wasn't going to set her down short of the finish line. So, I kept carrying her, over a hundred awkwardly-balanced pounds, cradled in my arms. Fortitudine vincimus.

Yeah, it was a weird day.

The Queue
I cannot say how long this book holiday will last, but it can't be more than some short span; the pull of the page is too potent to postpone in perpetuity. And it's not as if I won't be reading daily through titanic academic tomes during this time "away" from books. I'm not sick of books, I just need a chance to catch my breath. And all too often absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Recently
Karen E. Olson, The Missing Ink
Agatha Christie, Murder Is Easy
Agatha Christie, The Witness For the Prosecution and Other Stories

Currently
book holiday

Presently
Agatha Christie, Crooked House
P. G. Wodehouse, Mike at Wrykyn & Mike and Psmith
Agatha Christie, Passenger to Frankfurt

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "Hackensack" (live) via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)