The Book High

Today is going to be a very distracted day for me.  I am exhausted.

While “exhausted” is nothing new to me (mom of a toddler here), this is a different kind.  Mental exhaustion.  I’m tapped out.  Coming down off a rollercoaster ride type exhaustion, although really, I’ve been mostly sunk into an armchair the last three days.

Three days ago I picked up Jennifer McMahon’s Dismantled, a book that’s been on my to-read list for quite a while.  I’d just finished Catherine Coulter’s Bombshell and I was looking for another good mystery, but something deeper and not of the police procedural type.  And thus began my rollercoaster ride.

Ending a good book always feels kind of like coming down off a high of sorts.  It’s always been that way.  I remember sitting in bed one night and feeling this way after I finished The Sword of Shannara.  I’d gotten it as a Christmas present and, not even 12 yet, it was the biggest book I’d ever read.  One of the best.  To this day I am still obsessed with Terry Brooks’ work.

It was the same after I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dracula, Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, and the myriad of other great books I’ve come across over the years.  I bought into the propaganda they peddled in libraries and shows like Reading Rainbow when I was young– books can take you places, teach you things, amaze you, infuriate you, leave you breathless, and, most of all, hungry for the next one.  I’ve already got Frog Music and Behind the Scenes at the Museum checked out and waiting on my desk.  It’s like how addicts start planning how to get their next fix while lighting up the first.

By the way — support your local libraries.  They help junkies like me get our high in safe, cheap/free ways.  Like a literary methadone clinic.