This is getting hard.

I'm finding it very hard to be monogamous with my own books. In all truth, the one I'm reading now (A Walk in the Woods) is a loaner from my aunt Irene ... not technically breaking my self-contract but also avoiding the point of it, which is to make more progress in my own unread inventories. And aside from lent books, I find myself reading about new books that are out (like this one or this one) which promise to be funny and charming with a new perspective on something I want to know more about. Maybe the real problem is that I'm on a memoir bender and am running out? I doubt it.


I spent the last couple weeks in New York and Vermont dreaming about dairy and life in a place that experiences 4 seasons instead of 1.5. There are obvious benefits to both systems, and I wonder if it's not time to see what the other one is like. Isn't 4 seasons a little decadent? That's 2.5 more than I'm used to and I've gotten by just fine with the 1.5 I've had for the last 28 years. Is a climate with 1.5 seasons being miserly or overly indulgent? I've been at a crossroads that's lasted about a year, and I think this fall is when it all comes to a head and one path becomes the clear(er) choice. Which path? TBD. Like so many things right now.


It's hard to subdue my book-shopping impulses when there's so much on my mind. But I'm trying! I just have to remember not to hate myself if I submit.