This was a big step for me because the last time I ordered books from an online bookseller (amazon.com), one of them never arrived. And my account wouldn't allow me to access the shipping information, despite the confirmation email I'd been sent telling me "you're 20 dollar novel has been charged to your credit card and shipped." If the book was ever actually shipped, it must have gotten sucked into an alternate reality by an intergalactic vortex, for it certainly never made it to my mailbox!
ANYWHO, I ordered four novels last week, all of which were part of the same series. I'd read the first one before and enjoyed it, so when I found the rest of the books for 75 cents each, I had to purchase them. I'm a sucker for a good deal, especially on books. And shoes. And blank journals. But that's another story for another post.
WHAT WAS I SAYING? Oh, yes. The books. Sorry.
To my great delight, the first book arrived within two days of my ordering it, and I devoured it like a ravenous lion. Seriously, I don't read books, I INHALE them. It was just as entertaining as I'd recalled, and so I began to compulsively check my mailbox in eager anticipation for the second book in the series to appear.
ALAS! When I ripped open the packaging surrounding the next book to arrive on my doorstep, I found it contained the third book instead of book #2! This was puzzling, for I'd received the confirmation emails in chronological order, and so had assumed that they would be delivered as such. This benign feeling of confusion was quickly replaced by mild frustration, which rapidly turned into a malignant, burning annoyance.
I was stuck in literary purgatory, for I held in my hot little hands a wonderful new book, but I couldn't possibly read it without completely ruining the other wonderful new book that I had purchased, but had not yet received. Since patience isn't exactly my strongest character trait, this irritation simmered as I waited for the correct book to appear, occasionally glancing longingly at book #3.
Today, when I arrived home after class, I was ecstatic to see another book-shaped package in the mailbox. Peace and happiness flooded over me as I began to plan the evening around my new reading material, imagining myself sitting out on the porch, sipping some strawberry lemonade as I lost myself in the novel. However, this serenity was short-lived, for as I tore open the package once more, I discovered that the fourth book had arrived instead of the second!
"AAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!" I cried, throwing my head back with a primeval roar of anguish and rage. I gripped the offending book with shaking hands, my hopes and dreams for an evening of quiet relaxation ruined. Infuriated, I stomped up to my room and tossed book #4 on top of the likewise-discarded book #3.
And so here I sit, venting on this blog instead of polishing off a good mystery novel. Every once in awhile I pause to glare at those prematurely-delivered books as they call my name like a Siren's song, tempting me to my own destruction.
It's only going to be worse when book #2 arrives, because then I'll have three books whispering "Read me. Read me. READ ME," while I'm trying to study for my Wednesday exam.
Figures.
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