I must be weird.
After I read a book I miss the characters (real or made-up). Really, I do. I think about them. What are they doing today. I think on to what might have happened since the book was released. Of course the story must go on. I want to know more.
I most recently read Escape by Carolyn Jessop. Her story was fascinating to me. Sadly enough at night I will find myself thinking about her life. How is she? How are her children? I have even mentioned this to Ernest. He thinks I am more than strange. I can’t help it. I get totally wrapped up in the world of the book.
The library is not getting my books on hold to me quick enough for me to not have a season of mourning. Yes, I mourn the loss of my book friends. Hopeless.
What makes you weird? Tell me.
