i was going to say that we liberal arts peeps are always asked what books we would take with us if stranded on a desert island, but then i don't know that anyone has ever actually asked me that question outside of my head so maybe it's not as big a deal as i think?
yeah. the sentence structure there should alert you to my overall state of perplexity as regards this issue.
and that was my overly complicated way of easing into the fact that, thanks to an upcoming desert island style sitch, i'm facing a "what kind of books shall i take with me" sophie's choice... if sophie'd had a buffet of choices rather than just two. (so, really, not at all like that.)
it's a drama in-progress unfolding on the shelf in my bathroom. a drama that is, at this moment in time, very cerebral, cold, ruthless. a detachment that will, i know, not last. it's gonna be freaking titanic up in my bookcase. fuck you helen fielding and sweet valley high. only select classics and Important Books By White Men will survive.
THIS PAINS MY HEART.
because how can you predict what you will want to read? and how can i, a noted scofflaw, be reliant upon libraries for my books?