I found a little hiding spot in the library that is far, far away from other humans. As I believe I've recounted here before, I have a problem concentrating when there are too many humans about. I'm constantly making up stories about them or feeling bad because they have wedgies or their hair color is botched or they're reading a book that reveals their current state, whether it be a state of sexual ecstasy or a state of mild depression.
So I was using my time productively UNTIL I happened to glance at the shelves to my left, which were unfortunately filled with tome after tome of impossible-to-ignore titles. Tell me, could you remain seated if the following books were sitting within three strides of your perch?:
The Male Ego (Males? They have egos? Muwahahahahahahaha!)
The Girl Within (yes, yes, I'm trying to find her, but she's being suffocated by The Grown Up Without)
Jealousy (thank you Toad the Wet Sprocket for ruining the whole concept for me)
Forty: The Age and the Symbol (I'm totally checking it out and bringing it home and reading it in an hour. Okay, maybe not. One of the sections is called "Symptoms at Forty: Organic Decline")
Stranger in the Nest (What? WHERE?!)
Battling the Inner Dummy (Shoot. That was going to be the title of my autobiography)
I Am A Strange Loop (Hey, me too!)
The list goes on, of course. On and on and on. Next time I'll find a spot near the financial section...
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