I have a confession to make. Last night I realized that I'm the worst type of reader around: the incomplete reader. Don't believe me? Right now sitting on my nightstand are not one, not two, but three partially read books. That's just wrong. Granted, one of the books I'm not that fond of and may not finish at all, but the other two are rocking the house. It is unbelievably lame of me to not have finished them yet. And the books know it. I realize that they are inanimate objects, but it is like the covers are looking up at me (all accusatory) and saying, "What's wrong with you? Why haven't you finished me yet? This behavior inexcusable!"

I will finish one tonight. I don't know which one, but no matter what CB Scott's Scandalous Spirits or John Green's Looking for Alaska. Both rock, so either way I win.

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