It's a winter break Saturday and I have so much I want to do. I want to clean the house. I want to write poetry. But most of all, I want to read books.
But there are so many books I want to read. So far this morning I have started three different books and couldn't settle with a one because I wanted to read so many more. I'm torn between meaningless fiction and quirky poetry and classic short stories and theological treatises and Christian Living... I want to read James Tate's Shroud of the Gnome and James Joyce's Dubliners and Voltaire's Candide and Nathaniel Hawthorne's short stories and C.S. Lewis's Four Loves... I don't have enough time to read all the books I want to read before school picks back up, and I'm forced to read Hamlet for the millionth time and Beowulf again...
I can't wait to graduate and start reading all the books I've collected over the past four years that I've been unable to read.