Bookish Whine

— feeling dead

A fibromyalgia flare hit me earlier this week and my arms hurt so badly from shoulder to fingertip that I can't hold my big-ass 500+ page trade paperback open for more than a few minutes at a time. Which is fine, I guess, because once I clock off from work that's about how long I can concentrate on any one thing. I've read maybe 20 pages in the last four days. I tried switching to an e-book on my much lighter Kindle, but I'm a one-book-at-a-time kind of woman and I couldn't get into it. Blargh. I'm just going to sit here for a while and gaze at this rainbow butterfly unicorn kitten and ponder my compulsive need to buy certain books in physical form, my soul-deep abhorrence to cracking book spines, and other such first-world "problems."