I could live in books. Or live for books, more realistically. Just read and read until my eyes turned into raisins and fell out of my head. Except for romances and westerns (although I’ve read Louis L’Amour, and romances if the sex is good enough), I read everything. Sometimes I remind myself of the old Twilight Zone episode (was it Twilight Zone?) about the old guy that just wanted to be left alone to read, and then everyone else died or disappeared and then he broke his glasses. That was probably a run-on sentence, which is why one should never update something as public as LJ after drinking too much vodka.

I amuse myself, which is a very good indication that I should log off now. “Please, m’am, just step back from the computer…” :)

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