Well, colour me embarrassed. We're halfway through Buy a Friend a Book Week, and I've been so busy kvetching about my little problems (and railing against extreme right-wing conservatives, because sometimes I enjoy exercises in futility) that I plum forgot all about it.
This is all the more shameful because I have, of late, been on the receiving end of an unexpected (and, it must be said, undeserved) parade of books from various friends, loved ones, and well-wishers. (What do you call such a collection of books? A bounty of books? A bumper crop of books? A gratitude of books?)
You know that feeling when the world seems full of amazing books you have yet to read? That feeling you get after an especially awesome birthday haul, or when all your special orders come in at the library at the same time? How is it that that feeling transmutes into a general sense that the world is a good and wise and generous place? And that you're as lucky as you've ever hoped to be, and far luckier than you deserve?
If you could bottle this feeling and administer it in pill form, it'd be an end to war and unhappiness. Better idea: Let's just slip it in the water supply.
I'm off. Gotta go buy a friend a book.