I spent my day yesterday reading Suzanne Collin's Catching Fire, the second book in the Hunger Games trilogy.
Ballerina Girl ordered it for our book club and kindly offered it to me to read first. She's so nice. So, yesterday,
I played trains and read.
I played playdoh and read.
I finger painted and read (hope there's no paint on the book).
I ate lunch and read.
I wanted to read it to Pedro for his nap time story, but he said no.
I read during my nap time.
I grudgingly went to tennis (after having seriously contemplated skipping it); all the while my mind was on Katniss and Petaa.
I helped with homework while I read.
And just before dinner, I finished.
These books are like a drug. Despite the disturbing premise of these books, I love them. I naturally have an odd fascination with horrible dictators and the ordinary people who resist them, so these books are right up my alley.
Last night I felt kind of similar to how I do after I binge on a big plate of chocolate chip cookies, mainly, disappointed the object of my obsession is GONE. "Why did I read the whole thing today?" "Why didn't I save a little bit for tomorrow?" Not to mention that it makes going back to reading "normal" books a real chore.
Oh well, it was good while it lasted. Please Suzanne, hurry and write the next book.