I am in the middle of my ninth book of the month. By month's end I'll probably have read almost as many books as I read in all of 2008. I think I topped out at a miserable 14, or something. All I do is read. I just read for a half hour while on my bike. I read before bed, when I wake up, while I eat. I blame it on the fact that I don't have the television hooked up to cable, so my apartment sits quiet. But to sound more intelligent I'll blame it on my insatiable need for literature.
I just snagged "The Host" by Stephenie Meyer at the library this morning, which I'll read when I finish "The Mermaid Chair." After "The Host," I've got a new Augusten Burrough's memoir called "A Wolf At The Table."
It never ends. There are too many books. And too much time.