At the moment, I'm kind of lost in the deliciousness of life.
You see, right now I'm leaning on a long bench surrounded by indoor plants and chess sets, waiting for a pot of Earl Grey tea and a white chocolate and berry muffin in a crowded book shop. All around me are shelves lined with glowingly new paperbacks, just waiting to be picked up and read. The smell is heavenly. I've lost myself like Alice wandering the rows of tales and worlds, wishing I was a millionaire with a lot of room and time. :)
I'm writing this in a beautiful blue and gold journal that I gave into temptation and brought -it's filled with Victorian images and vintage quotes about Fred Astaire being the ideal man, boater hats and wearing fake pearls. Just my kind of book. My only fear is that I'll ruin it's pages with my ink-puking pens and terrible spelling.
My deep feeling is that I should be clad in a knit jumper and vintage heels to be sitting here. Being dressed in my superman tee with my coral and blue nails caressing the book spines feels like a horrible sacrilege, but for me there is no other place I'd rather be now.
If you don't count horse riding.
There was a perfectly wonderful Poirot set of seven novels, terribly tempting to my crime hungry eyes, but eighty dollars is a lot for a student to shell out even for a week of entertainment. In the end I settled for this journal which I hope to take with me wherever I go (for in the words of Oscar Wilde, "one should always have something sensational to read in the train"), a smart copy of 'The Book Thief' (being number 73 in line for the library copies just wasn't good enough), and a good old Agatha Christie to tide me over - her famous 'Murder on the Orient Express'. Apparently this is second only to 'And Then There Were None'. I read that last mentioned in one short frenzied day, so needless to say I'm looking forward to giving this one a whirl.
And people wonder why I prefer print over a Kindle?
It's not a book, I say, it's a life, a world that you can enter.