I intend to commit crimes.

Big... ugly stinkin' ones!

... You don't believe me.

I have not convinced you.

I ought to have. But you're no fool. You passed the test. But I will rattle the proverbial cage. The brain cage, the thoughts of others! I'll scrub the creases right out of that grey matter amalgam you call a pre-frontal cortex!

Specifically, my scheme will affect those unlucky few who did not ask for my opinions yet have happened upon the little free library that is the target of my literary assault.

Let me elaborate. I am capabable of being less vague. The proof, like my slanderous snare, lies in wait...

Date: A few days ago. Time: Who cares?

And so it began with cleaning my room — it came with the budding spring, I reckon.

I had amased by this time in the year a great many books. I read a lot, though, only by today's standards.

I really enjoy books. Not all books... and that is the thought which made this blog inevitable.

See, I'm something of a professional procrastinator. I have ADHD up the wazoo and if that is the cheese, the wine is my obsessive personality.

Which of course means, at one point, I drank quite a bit of wine, and now I don't drink any wine. I'm not complaining about it, wine is icky flavored.

Really though, if you haven't tried it, let it be known; the years pass and I have become less thirsty. I hope that gives you an idea of whether or not it's worth it. I really don't think I would enjoy it even if I tried to anymore.

In fact, I never did like drinking. Despite the alcoholism. Which was likely the point, because what I really liked was not myself. Damned if I ever did, so it seems an effort not worth [it?] (I should just confidently defy grammar, then it would just become part of my linguistic allowance. But I have a bad habit of telling on myself.)

I have gone far past the point. This topic could make for an interesting other article. I digression my regression into past obsessions.

Resume Session

Where were we?

Yes... so, having cleaned my room and piled the books into a box, I was about ready to balance them on a public ebike and beg heavens to not eat sh*t on the journey to the Little Free Library nearest my house...

... it was then that my heart realized it too felt like it was about to be left behind with the box of books — to be handled by strangers who might have terrible taste — if I were to simply dump them there without... something. Something to show the books that I cared. Something to ensure that once they were out of my grasp, their future was not out of my hands.

I pondered on doing something to honor those mind-bending minima — those extra special fantastic books that were amongst the large cache of stashed words. I felt these mighty few had earned the rite to wear some sort of sash, or at least, I thought I ought to attach a memo along with the batch to illuminate which ones were the biggest catch.

I do love to write. I... just also really hate it. The feelings are pretty equally balanced. Neutral isn't really a gear I operate in though.

I just hate starting it, the first couple of sentences are by far the hardest. I love thinking about it... the idea of writing words that I have carefully strung together to formulate my best attempt at externalizing the feelings internally impressed upon me by a couple of these books.

I am old enough to know myself a little bit by now. I have learned that I can be tricked into doing things that I know that I want to, or have got to do. I simply have to find a way to keep myself doing things that have some distant blood relationship to the thing I really aim to do.

Which is how the idea formed that I would create this blog. It was the perfect trap to set for myself to keep thinking about my true task. Yes, it took me close to a week to make the blog website, but, for better or worse, I knew that I needed a really big incentive to be able to write this book review I had in mind. I just couldn't bear the idea of writing it into my Notes and printing it and hoping that it will be read by the next prospective owners of these books. While this doesn't directly address the problem, it alleviates my feeling of loss to have written my thoughts where at least somebody might see them and know that I loved these books.

And also so that they know which books I fucking hate and think are garbage which only purpose is to fill the idlest of minds and take the smallest of purchase in the world of thought. I rarely feel as strongly as I express. This is no exception. But fuck those stupid books that wasted my god damn time and made me groan when I finished them. Fuckers.

So, this is the introductory article to the series of book reviews to come. And this is the conclusory sentence to the introductory article.

- Jess.