I decide to catch up on a series I've been reading for years now. I have book #21 and received book #22 for Christmas. I pick up #21, anxious to finally get caught up so I can read the newest book in the series. After all, I have this one weekend to read, but only if I get some other things done, too. I have a checklist of minutiae to accomplish, and, damnit, I'm going to do some reading if I have to stay up all night to do it.
Friday night I open book #21 and start reading. It's already late when I start, but somehow the plot seems vaguely familiar. I doze off around chapter #3, put the book aside, and do not pick it back up again until early Saturday evening after accomplishing my checklist for the day. By chapter #5, I realize that I have read the book before, but I cannot for the life of me piece together the entire plot.
This is not the first time I have pulled this stunt. I have one paperback book that I re-read every few years because I keep saying, "This looks interesting...." and get about halfway through before I realize it's a repeat offender. So, I read the book. Again. I finish the book by late Sunday afternoon, reach into the pile of "must-read-right-away books," and pull out #22. By Sunday evening, I'm halfway through this one, as well.
It figures. The one time in months that I actually schedule time to read, turns out I've already read the book I pick up. Like an exercise in futility, like Groundhog Day, I live through the entire plot one more time ... oh, yeah, I remember this ...oh, yeah, I forgot about this part ... and on and on. It's okay, though. The book is worth a second read, especially since I totally forget how it ends.
When I get through #22, I promise my pals who have been so kind to me, that I will read the books you lent me and get them back to you. Well, not this weekend, but I swear to you, they're on my to-do checklist.
