Hi, my name is Someone To Run With. I'm a novel by David Grossman. You know, the one you're supposed to be reading for Book Club, which will be held in about a week and a half in YOUR house, Robin. I'm very good you know, I've got great reviews and I've even won prizes. All in all, I'm supposed to be a pretty nice read if I do say so myself.
So why am I just languishing on your shelf? You've been neglecting me for that Dante Club book, haven't you? The same one you said was pretty good but incredibly slow-going and didn't really begin to pull you in until page 230-something. Or is it all that blogging you've been doing? The internet has sucked the life out of so many readers. You used to be so trustworthy. All the older books on the shelf say you devoured them in just a day or two, three if they were really long, then came back and read them again and again. They say they were all exhausted from being read non-stop, cover to cover. I was so sure when you brought me home that I was done languishing on that cold basement shelf and had finally come somewhere I'd be appreciated, but no, it's been weeks and I'm still sitting here unread. Different shelf, same story. No love, no appreciation, not even the faintest glimmer of attention.
My only comfort is knowing that that book club meeting is fast approaching, and that you never could let a deadline go by without scrambling to meet it. Maybe when it gets a bit closer you'll finally buckle down and see how wonderfully I fulfill the promise of my reputation. Until then, I'll just sit here and wait. Ho hum. Don't mind me. I'm just a book after all. An inanimate object. It's not like I have feelings or anything. I'll just sit here and wait patiently until you get around to picking me up. Not in a rush. I'm not going anywhere after all. Does anyone have anything I can read while I'm waiting? Should we send out for pizza?...
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