Whale Season: A Novel, by N.M. Keloy: Somehow, miracle of miracles, I stumbled across this book (on tape) at the library today. I have a feeling (bolstered by a review on Amazon comparing Keloy's humor to Terry Pratchett's and Christopher Moore's) I will love it.
UGH, interruption. Mom is filing my taxes (thank you, Mom) and gah, I wish I knew what I was supposed to be doing in this regard. I am single? But married? I withheld as single, because back when B was working from home as an independant whatever, we were ill-prepared when tax time came and it was terrifying, so I like to tell the government to withhold as much as they possibly can. At times, I have told them to take EXTRA money. I am scared of taxes. I repeat, UGH. I don't like not knowing what I am doing.
So I do like to be alone, but when I'm alone I end up doing strange things. Today I went to the library and checked out seven books. I will not read seven books in a month. But I can't help myself from checking them out if they look appealing. Sometimes I just like to look through them for an hour or two.
Seven books. Where do I start to read seven books?
Two of my recent borrows are books on feeding birds (makes me feel about seventy), one on yoga, one on reflexology and acupressure (cousin Michelle's speciality, my thought is there might be something useful for the kids I work with), on book on gardening (A Blessing of Toads), and two novels. Jitterbug Perfume is Tom Robbins, which should be nice. I enjoy his style. The other was one I picked up while walking the shelves, it's called All We Know of Heaven and should be interesting. Different.