Captain's weblog, supplemental

Dear Diary,

At any given time, I have a pile of media on my nightstand. Literally, a teetering pile. The problem is that when I start to read something, I get tired and cannot finish it. Then I delude myself into thinking that I will finish it in just a...zzzzzzz. So instead of putting it away, I keep it out in hopes that I will finish it the next night. But the next night I usually either repeat the process with something new, or watch Star Trek: Next Generation on Netflix.

Consequently, there are about 16,562 pieces of half-read media piled up. Would you like to know what is there? I know you would.

New Yorkers. This is the biggest problem. I try to keep up with them; I do. But I usually only manage the Talk of Town and then read the fiction. Because let's face it, for every in-depth article that is relevent to my interests (rich people, diseases, profiles of celebrities, anything to do with food) there are three that are not (people I haven't heard of but should have, history, politics, dance, other boring stuff). But I keep them there because I still might read the in-depth article about that prominent Danish architect. You never know when you might be presented with the opportunity to say, "Oh yes, I just read about him in the New Yorker." You know, like during pre-school dropoff.

Parenting books. I have several, several parenting books. I usually buy one when we are having a particular problem with one of the kids, and then I do not read it. So I have ones about how to get your kids to eat (mine don't), to sleep (nope, they don't do that either), and behave (hahahaha, no.) Still, though, I have them and continue to buy them.

Self-help books on anxiety. Have we met? If not, hello, I'm Fluffy and I have a raging anxiety disorder. I don't read the books though; they make me too nervous.

Assorted other literature. Gazing over at the pile right now, I see two P.G. Wodehouse books, some Alexander McCall Smith (love), some Anthony Trollope, some chick-lit from the beach, and the confrontational title, "So You Think You're Not Religious: A Thinking Person's Guide to the Church". And ironically, what is sitting on top of the pile but a poor, neglected, uncharged kindle that has only been used to read an emergency copy of Fifty Shades of Gray (don't judge; I had to see what the fuss was about) and that also stores piles of classics that I also will never read. But at least those aren't taking up real estate on my nightstand.

And now, if you'll excuse me, Captian Picard beckons. (number one, make it so, etc.)

Love,
Fluffy