Story Junkie

The first time I tried to access Blogger, the server was down. This incident and the frequent slow load times I'm experiencing have combined to make me realise that my choice to move may not have been the most enlightened one. That's probably the 236790124th bad decision I've made in my life.

The jury's still out on whether I've made another blunder with the three books I bought at Border's sale this weekend. I'm off to a good start with 'The Time Traveler's Wife', which has been pretty compelling so far. I'm hoping the other two books will live up to my expectations too.
As the government likes to remind Singaporeans, 'have three or more if you can afford it'. Tempted as I was to splurge, I decided that three books was a goodly number to tide me through to the next sale (Xmas is coming, so it can't be far away). As a substitute for bequeathing my entire wealth to American bookstores, I assiduously memorized titles of books that I was itching to buy but could probably borrow from the nearest library. When I finish with my current stock I will stalk the library aisles for my quarry.

Sometimes I wonder what I do with all these stories that I devour. To be frank, I'm not sure that reading has made me a better person. After I finish a book, my powers of expression do not expand noticeably. My appreciation of life doesn't improve (much). I don't become any more intelligent, nor do I appear to be any wiser. About the only thing I'm sure of is that immersion in stories provides a temporary reprieve from the real world. A book is like my comfort drug, and I admit I'm quite an addict. It provides welcome relief, but I have a suspicion that this sort of escapism could well prove to be bad decision #236790125.