Just Me and My Blanket

I had to drag myself out of bed and download my emails before my ISP had a hissyfit and began rejecting them. Mostly, I’ve slept, and when I haven’t slept, I’ve read. I’ll tell you more about that later.

Most people consider me to be a fast reader. I used to be faster but not anymore. I tend to read and breakdown what I’m reading. It’s the author in me, and it’s taking away reading for pure pleasure. I stop to take in a scene and how it was described. How involved am I in the story? That critical eye makes a difference in the way I read. It’s actually ruined things for me. Some of the magic is gone.

Right now, I’d like to be floating in the water by some remote tropical island. You know those screensaver photos with crystal clear water and palms swaying in a warm breeze over pure white sand. I want some warm sun to caress my shoulders. Maybe I could have a little palmtreesomething fruity, like mango juice, to sip while I’m lounging on the water. The sweet scent of blossoms wafts past me in little bursts. Then I catch it, the aroma of food. My stomach rumbles with anticipation. What delicious skewered meat will be waiting for me? What tempting veggies grilled to perfection, luscious green salads, and more fruits prepared and waiting for me to devour them?

Never mind. I’d going to drag my blanket back to the sofa with me and grab a glass of orange juice on my way. There are icicles hanging off my house.

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