I did indeed do even more laundry today. Two sets of sheets, the “runners” on my nightstands (which were actually re-purposed pillow shams. And have since started relieving the sewing itch by reworking them into better runners), some miscellaneous clothing and dishtowels, three blankets, and the slipcovers from my sofa.

And after the struggle to get the slipcovers back on the sofa, I now really, really hate the sofa, the slipcovers, and Ikea, all for intensifying my hatred of being and living alone.

I also finished Devil Bones (aka Temperance Brennan #11). And am pissed off at a certain subplot. Will most likely be starting 206 Bones (#12) this evening, and am hoping Ms. Reichs resolves things in a fashion to my pleasing.

On the plus side, I’m now up to 24 completed books for 2010, 9 books in the past three weeks alone. I don’t think I’ve read this voraciously in over 10 years.

There’s only two more Temperance Brennan books (at this time). I don’t know what I’ll move onto after I finish them. I love reading series. I don’t know if that’s just a personality quirk, or if it’s something ingrained into girls at a young age.  Nancy Drew, The Babysitters Club, Sweet Valley High, Anne of Green Gables – in that respect, Harry Potter and Twilight are absolutely nothing new. But it’s something to think about – do we like serials because we like the continuing storylines and characters, as an organic preference? Or is it really just a marketing ploy and we buy into it because we only think we like them? As long as we reading, and there’re are good plots and characters, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

For some reason, it kinda brings to mind my theory that free will doesn’t exist, only the illusion of free will (and despite it being my own theory, I’m not sure how much I buy into it). But that’s another story for another post.

And since I have clean sheets on the bed, by my own rules that means I need to shower before I go to bed. Night-night.

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