I need a life

Curse the A-Z reading challenge.

Despite my misgivings, I accepted the challenge to read works by 26 authors whose last names represent each letter of the alphabet, in the hope of broadening my literary spectrum and to push myself to write more often, as I plan to post a review of each book on my blog. Alphabetically, of course -- both in reading and writing the reviews-- for no reason other than I'm horribly sick that way.

It's been a month since I picked up my first book for the challenge, a Paul Auster, and I'm currently engrossed in the first few chapters of Mary Gaitskill's Veronica. I've been burying myself deep into the pages of, luckily, one good book after another, getting less than my minimum requirement of vitamin D when I step out of the house in search of those authors' novels missing from my list.

I perform the necessary daily ablutions, albeit mindlessly, and satisfy my need for nourishment, but I can't remember the last time I brushed my hair and I often find myself wondering where Friday (or Saturday, or Sunday...) went. Every weekend, my in-laws come to visit. My mother-in law claims I'm shades fairer and thinner, and she has taken upon herself the frustrating chore of fattening me up and entertaining me with her anecdotes (most of which I swear I've heard many times over), because, apparently, she thinks I'm in need of social interaction as well.

But for all my love for her and gratitude for her efforts which do not go unnoticed, as she is wont to perform them with theatrical flourish, I can't wait for the elusive lull in the conversation so that I can go back to my reading.