To Whom It May Concern:

I have a confession. I'm reading.

I know, I know, I should be doing laundry, dishes, the vacuuming, family history, or any number of other, more worthwhile pursuits - yet here I sit, completely ensconced in the throes of a novel.

I didn't mean to do it, I swear. I went to work this morning to sub for the digital communications teacher (i.e. extremely boring and laid-back day), and innocently went in search of a book to read. I was looking for my usual fare, which would be anything I can a. finish reading during six periods of school, or b. something that's good enough to read, but just barely. That way it won't hinder my abilities to feed my family and assure they have clean underwear.

And then I succumbed to the dark side. As I was rifling through a fellow teacher's plethora of books, I had the misfortune to come across Bresingr, aka the third book in the Eragon series. I tried not to take it, truly I did, but it just sort of jumped into my hands.

All 748 pages of it.

And so here I sit - worthless to my children, deaf and dumb to my husband (who finally gave up and went to bed), reading my book. So don't expect to hear from me this weekend, because I'm also worthless to blogland. The friend I borrowed the book from needs it for students on Monday, so unfortunately (imagine that spoken with COMPLETE sincerity) I pretty much need to read it non-stop in order to ensure its prompt return. True, I'm already half-way through, but what if there was an emergency and I had to take several hours off from reading time?

No, I am all about getting the job done, and so I read. Now stop interrupting me - I have a book to finish.