It's my birthday. I'm the big 24. It's funny, because it's a number that seems older than I actually am. Maybe life is going too fast, but I still imagine myself closer to about age 19. On a more positive note, because a positive post is definitely needed after all my sad sick posts, I am now at the age that St. Therese of Lisieux finished The Story of A Soul.
This afternoon I snuck out before naptime to Half-Priced Books on Ford Parkway. I've gone many times with baby-in-tow with total disaster resulting, so this time I ventured alone. Before leaving I scribbled a few authors on scratch paper to keep a look out for. It's always hit-or-miss, but I was able to find five books under $20 that I've wanted to add to my collection. The five below are books I've never read, or...gulp, authors I've never read.
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
Between the Acts, Virginia Woolf
The Waves, Virginia Woolf
The Betrothed, Alessandro Manzoni
The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce
Luke is down for his nap now, and Mark is studying. He's just changed my reading music from John Michael Talbot to the Braveheart soundtrack. I strongly veto. It's my birthday, and I can't read about the glittering lives of the English upper-class with bagpipes in the background. I'll have to switch to A Beautiful Mind, it's much more conducive to academia anyway.
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