Friday, November 16, 2007


After finishing The Fountainhead a few weeks ago I was craving a little more Rand action and went tunneling through our book armoire for Ayn other wonder (I cannot stop the puns using this woman’s name—evidently, I have troubles inside my head). I wanted Atlas Shrugged, couldn’t find it, so I clicked my way to the Amazon Marketplace and found myself another copy. After many days of heart palpitations while clenching my mail key and peering into the metal box that births our bills, I was fortunate to find my new book waiting for me last evening.

It’s a magnificent thing that my little family is gone, because I’m descending into that world of pajamas, unwashed hair, a sink full of dishes, string cheese, and dry bread as I dive into another fit of objectivism.

About 850 pages until I come out.

1 comment:

Mal Robin said...

You actually like read for fun. So weird.