Oh, I hate decisions! I hate them even more when I know what I'm SUPPOSED to choose but it isn't what I WANT to choose.
Yesterday in the mail I received my advance copy of Mary DeMuth's new book The Muir House.
I'm already hooked. Who is Mrs. Skye? Why is she the caretaker? What happened to Willa's father? What is it that she is trying to remember? What was in all of her papers that burned? SO many questions and I'm torn between wanting to hurry forward to find the answers and lingering over each scene so rich in language and symbolism. Houses. Walls. Building and burning. How will it all tie together? I just want to curl up on the couch and READ!
there's also this:
What? You didn't think I was going to show you undoctored photos of just how bad my house really looks right now, did you? Suffice to say that chaos is king and has been for several weeks. And the chaos needs to be tamed. And the family needs to be fed.
But I really want to read my book.
I suppose I must resign myself to choosing the 'right' thing. All the while casting longing glances at the book and the couch.