A Girl and Her Book

My eyes are wide open even though it’s 1:30 in the morning. Between the bright, daylight flashes of lightning and the canon-firing-on-a-battlefield loud, inside rattling claps of thunder overhead, I’m awake.

I make another attempt to get to know the inner workings of Phileas Fogg. As I read on, my imagination keeps pace with the racing wind out my window. Realizing Jules Verne is describing a character with great potential to captivate, I feel a smirk form the corner of my mouth and a small sense of satisfaction take hold.

There’s nothing quite like the feeling you get at that moment when you realize the book you finally choose, after painstaking deliberation, looks like it could really be a good one! Gratification!

I look for the page number, fourteen. At this point, a quick reality check, I reel in my excitement a bit and sober it up with the fact I have only just begun the journey, and there are 261 pages yet to unfold. Plenty of time for things to get bad or even worse, dry and boring. It does happen (just say the words “War and Peace” to my daughter).

By this time the thunder is rolling through like a bull dozer and the lightning is flashing like paparazzi pouncing on a celebrity. I try to stay focused, I get a few pages further in, nineteen. It’ll have to be enough. My eyes have now joined the ‘make it impossible for her to read’ assault with a heaviness I had hoped for 3 hours ago. I raise the white flag in surrender.

Using the dust jacket to mark my progress, I smooth the cover with my hand. This little book, that has so patiently waited on my overflowing shelf, will be my current imagination traveling companion when my eyes, Lord willing, reopen in the morning.

Until then, my new friend…

(Just a simple musing of reflection on last night’s happenings. I am attempting to publish this from my iPhone to see how it works. Thanks for humoring me. )