It’s kind of like magic, but more annoying

I love New Yorker magazine. I really do. I was a devoted reader for two years. But then I started reading a lot of books again and something had to give (hint: it wasn’t the books). A renewal notice from the magazine came a few months ago in the midst of my culling through a year’s backlog of issues to see if there were any articles worth saving to read/keep. Yes, I do that. It’s research. For life.

Anyway, that notice had to come at least two months ago. But the magazines still keep coming and I keep not reading them. I have six sitting on my desk right now staring at me pointedly as if to ask why I haven’t picked them up since I moved them to my desk in the first place.

I have paper issues. I save blank post-its, I use old notebooks for loose leaf. I used to mend folders until I realized they each cost a dime. No matter how much space they take up though, I just cannot bring myself to get rid of them without looking through them. And after I do that I can’t throw them out without reading the good articles. And then another issue comes in the mail.

Snowball much?

Not the most riveting or relevant post. But I thought it might be time to post something that had nothing to do with a review. I had an epiphany last night to resurrect a very old post I made on another blog after some discussion with “ChelseaGirl” but now I can’t remember what the brilliant idea was because I fell asleep and forgot. If I remember soon, watch for it.

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