1. I own one hundred and twelve pounds of books. I don’t imagine a lot of people know how many pounds of books they own. They probably just count them. Or count the shelves they’re on.
But I’ve weighed them for shipping, and now, I’m inordinately pleased at the idea of having almost enough books to constitute a full adult human.
2. I am beginning to realize how dangerous it might be for me to be able to drive a car by myself. I could decide to go places.
And then go.
Without telling anyone.
I could just show up anywhere. Speaking of which, what are you making for dinner?
3. I could just disappear for an afternoon. (Adults play the best games of Hide-and-Seek ever.) But I would probably have to leave a note…
4. I could go to the beach by myself, and no one would be able to yell at me for reading a book instead of going in the water.
5. Everything always comes back to books.
6. I was born at 12:13 A.M, and I usually celebrate my birthday at exactly 12:13 A.M. It’s tradition, to keep track of my life, down to the minute. (Plus, it seemed daring to stay up so late when I was ten, and I’ve never quite given up on the grandness of being ten.)
I’m moving three time zones to the West before my next birthday. What time do I celebrate now? 12:13 A.M.? Or 9:13 P.M. the night before?
7. There is no worse way to wake up, then to wake up thinking.
8. What time does the Parthenon open in the morning?
9. Can you bribe your fairy godmother? Because I want to bribe my fairy godmother.