As you can see from our rather sloppily arranged bookshelf, we are running out of storage space for the growing number of books that have accumulated in the Siegel household.
As problems go, it's far more favorable than the other more pressing issues of the day. You know, problems that have driven so many angry white people to our nation's capitol to demand the proper redress.
"I need a haircut."
"This mask is infringing on my God-given rights."
"I miss the baby back ribs at AppleBees."
The rising value of precious real estate on our bookshelves can be largely attributed to the Pandemic. Boredom with jigsaw puzzles. The need to adjourn to separate rooms and not engage in familial bickering.
And also the rediscovery of the joy of reading.
Though 2020 was a monstrously horrible year on so many fronts, I did have the chance to turn the last page on more books than I had in any previous year.
This year, I've made it a goal to surpass that.
Should tomorrow's inauguration actually take place, without any further disturbances from the empty-headed Golden Corral crowd (I make no apologies for painting with the wide brush) (furthermore, if you storm our capitol and are willing to discard 240 years of democratic rule in service of a lying douchebag from Queens, NY, you deserve the derision, and then some) I will wean myself from the lure of social media and turn my time over to more reading.
I will also make a note to myself to curb my tendency towards run on sentences.
And perhaps I'll be inspired by the additional reading to get back to writing.
Earlier in 2020 I had started writing a book about the colorful collection of Neighbors I have known and endured throughout my 44 years on this planet.
I'd like to get back to that.
You know, if the clamorous and always-ignored dogs that surround my house would ever shut the fuck up.
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