Book hangovers are real. After finishing a book, all I want to do is sleep.
The book I’m reading affects my mood. If the protagonist is stressed, I’m stressed. If she’s grumpy, so am I. To be honest, I’m either stressed, grumpy, or both.
I treat books better than babies. Don’t hate me. I used to bite my cousin when we were children. I have never bitten books.
I love looking at my bookshelf. It brings me so much joy. It’s better than looking at a boyfriend…not that I would know.
My eyes are always sore. That’s why I don’t have an e-reader.
My wallet hates me. That’s another reason why I don’t have an e-reader.
I can’t find a comfortable reading position. I blame my horrible eyesight and my need to wear glasses.
I make references to books, but no one understands them. People stare at me like I have three eyes. I wish I did.
I die a little inside when someone tells me s/he disliked a novel I loved. I’m sorry. We can’t be friends.
I re-organize my books often. It takes an hour each time. Send help.
When reading, I might as well be dead to the world. I refuse to check my phone.
I despise interruptions with every fibre of my being. I wish I could cut the phone lines in my house.
I don’t read fast enough. Too many books, too little time. Sigh.