Oops... I Did it Again!

I have a confession. My name is Shannon and I am a book addict. I hearby confess to staying up past 3:30AM to finish the second book of the Twilight saga - New Moon. I also confess to lying to the Captain and telling him it was really only 3 AM when I crawled into bed.

Now I have a book hang over. I was awake, or should I say in a state that appeared to be awake at 7:30 - eyes open, conversing in semi-full sentences with a death grip on a Dt. Dr. Pepper - but the suffering has begun. Thankfully, I did not have to work today, or have big plans to do anything that requires too much thought and concentration. I do try to read responsibly.

It all started innocently enough, but at a very young age, with Laura Ingalls, the Boxcar Children, every single solitary book in the Black Stallion series read deep into the night in my sloped-ceilinged, freezing cold, Iowa farmhouse bedroom. I had been encouraged, and was told that reading was the right thing to do. I took that recommendation to the nth degree.


Jr. High and High School were no better with me often hiding my stash in the arms of a text book . Poor Mrs. Greving tried to break my nasty habit - but to little avail. I would not be thwarted. She tried.

I hit rock bottom while reading Gone With the Wind. The copy I had been reading was missing the last chapter. I knew our library had another copy, but it was checked out, so I had to wait about three days in order to finish it. It was pure torture. I read and reread every conversation, every subtle nuance, between Rhett and Scarlett and just knew that love would prevail.

I remember, we had a band competition, so we met at school on a Saturday, and before we left I snuck into the library and behold it was there, so I STOLE the remaining copy. ( I did sign the card and laid it on the Librarian desk and knew I would have it back by Monday. The librarian was an addict herself, so I knew she would understand. ) I read the last chapter on the way to the competition. I had had enough of a window to see a very happy and joyous ending for dear Rhett and Scarlett, and could hardly contain my sorrow as I read that Rhett's love had run out. Frankly, I DID give a damn! We played a haunting, very Tara-ish composition at the final concert that evening and I told everyone that I didn't feel well and that was why I was crying. That book haunted me for weeks.

I am not too particular about the flavor of my books. I can be just as engrossed with Malcolm Gladwell or John Ortburg as I am with Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte. And who can resist a good memoir? I loved Chosen By a Horse by Susan Richards. Once I start, I find it so very hard to put them down.



I find that I do like the physicality of holding a book with its warm and fragrant pages in my hand. They are so conveniently transportable. Laid open on the counter while cooking dinner, propped on the steering wheel while waiting to pick up the girls, and admittedly more than my share of books have shriveled pages incurred after being dipped or dropped into steaming hot bath water.

I used to listen to audio books on my hour commute to work and found that I would simply appear in Sioux City with absolutely no recollection of how I got there. I should not read and drive. I have thought about looking into getting an Amazon Kindle at some point, but wouldn't that be like continuosly filling a keg at a party with a bunch of frat boys? Not sure I could handle that.

My name is Shannon, and I am a book addict. Any other addicts present?