Saturdays make me appreciate weekdays.

On weekdays, I’m allowed to wander freely in the daylight hours.  Sure, it’s winter and I spend most of my time cooped up inside, but I can go for a walk.  Or to the store.  Or sit and stare out the window.  I only have to go to work when it’s about to get dark (in winter, that is).

I have time to wake up in the mornings.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that…okay, two things: 1) I love mornings 2) only if they are leisurely.  I love the “oh look, the sun just came up and what nice fog” aspect of being on the streets at 7:30 am…but I don’t so much like the jumping in my car and speeding off to work part.

Friday-Saturday-Sunday can be, well, fairly debilitating.   Fridays start off nice, with all that library time, but then comes job #2, and the whole get-off-work-at-9:30pm and come-back-at-8:00am thing.  And working 9 1/2 hours on Saturday (boo-hoo, poor me).  And, oh look! I get to work Sunday, too.  At least Sundays are back with the books, my saving grace.

Speaking of, I AM GOING THROUGH WITHDRAWAL.  It’s been, like, 4 days since I read a YA novel and I’m getting jittery.  I started Can You Forgive Her? (awesomest title ever and deserving of a better adjective than ‘awesomest’) which is over 8-effing-hundred pages long.  If it weren’t for the Winter Classics Challenge, I might devise some elaborate way of drawing it out in a replica of 1860s serial novels.  Did they get one chapter at a time?  Apparently they devoured them.  I want to feel that way about this.  I can’t even really seem to settle down on a book lately, let alone devour.  Perhaps if I cut back on my blog reading…and called in sick to work…

I also need to give my periodic shout-out to Josephine Tey who knocks my socks off.  This time with Miss Pym Disposes, which I hadn’t read since probably high school.  It was the first Tey I ever read, back when I had all that undiscovered Tey-ness stretching out in front of me.  Now it’s almost all been reread, but fortunately I possess the knack of almost immediately forgetting the resolution of any plot, especially a mystery or suspense.  This is admittedly unfortunate when it comes to discussing books or reviewing them, but from a rereader’s standpoint it’s priceless.

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