i am doing it again. binging on a book. i am eating up Niagara Falls All Over Again like it will disappear if i put it down. i didn’t even crack the book until saturday morning. i am on page 220 now, it’s midnight. i have to buy a car in the morning. i feel queasy and a lot like shit. i cannot decide if i should plow through the last 80 pages or if i should sleep.

i love elizabeth mccracken. my crush developed after reading the giant’s house. then i read here’s your hat what’s your hurry and fell head over heels in love. how could i not love a woman who wrote about a tall, awkward midwestern woman with tattoos? yes, it was destined.

so now an internal debate rages. part of me wants to finish up niagara falls and go to sleep with smug satisfaction, like i do after a good orgasm. but then i know i’ll wake up alone, no book to comfort me. but to not finish it, well that’s just blue-balling myself, no?

yes, reading books can be like sex. those of you who love books passionately will know exactly what i mean. but i feel like i am cheapening the whole experience. i am relegating the mccracken book to nothing but a cheap one-night stand. and really, i respect her so much more than that.

but i am greedy and impatient. i demand satisfaction! i am a book slut, plain and simple. there is nothing i can say in my defense. but i promise, i’ll respect the book in the morning.