I had started it about three or four weeks ago. Actually got about half way through one rainy afternoon, but came home, put it down and didn't look at it again until I noticed it as I was shaking out my umbrella this evening, still sitting under a notepad I had also carried with me that day. That's the problem with giving yourself a list of books to read. Suddenly, everything else seems so much more important, even when you really know that what you want to be doing is reading, because you've told yourself to, because now you should, you don't.
So I read it.
I am a little annoyed though. Not by the book, but rather by the publisher. It’s the cheap copy, yes; printed rather like a newspaper and bound by an almost entirely white cover (the only color being the title and a streak of rainbow across the upper left hand corner). So now, thanks to the newspaper pages and the newspaper ink, I’ve got a white book covered in newspaper fingerprints. Damned annoying.
I'm tired now. But I’ve given up on sleep.