Last Sunday after the fon-don't fiasco, I found myself obsessing over mortality. The tiny voice inside of me said I was lucky that my mom was okay, but someday, chances were, I would either get a call or have to make a call.
Clearly my head wasn't a good place to be in, so I needed to vacate.
I went to Borders and bought FROM DEAD TO WORSE by Charlaine Harris and THE SUGAR QUEEN by Sarah Allen.
I can't rightly express how grateful I was to have those books. For hours on Sunday life was kept safely at bay and my mind didn't turn traitor. I was safe.
I don't know what I'd do or what kind of person I'd be without books. And I hope I never get the answer to that.