In Tucson with mom. Long travel day yesterday. Clouds below, not much looking out the plane window; consequently read two mysteries. Presently gnawing on Paul Krugman and Ivan Doig, which ought to slow down the rate of burning through the pile I brought, while I contemplate just how compulsive I am. 'Do I have enough books?' is a distractingly loud question in the back of my mind almost always.
Found myself Wednesday evening just before the public library's closing time with my master Reading Greed Wish List in hand, conferring with the woman who orders mysteries. 'Never heard back about these here four suggestion I made last month...' She kindly masked how shocked she must have been, faced with this paper with the eight or nine subsections of authors and titles printed out in a very small font, want want want want want, with my library card number conveniently showing in two different places to facilitate placing holds... Naked need. She entered some orders to pacify me.
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