I left my book in Manhattan!
I left the novel I'm reading, the novel in which I'm thoroughly engrossed, the novel that I've been compulsively returning to every time I have even 30 seconds to move through another page or two, I left it in Manhattan!
I left the very good novel I'm reading, which I'd just been discussing with my friend, telling her I'm surprised I'm liking it so much, it doesn't quite fit my usual template, but that I'll think about all that, about why it works for me, later, for now I'm just reading it reading reading it, just utterly swept up in it, I left it on my friend's desk!
I was halfway to Queens last night when I realized I didn't have my book! I was in tears! Teresa was sweet as could be, offering to go back, offering to go into Manhattan today to get it for me. But no of course I would never ask such a thing. Nor am I quite that broken up enough myself, to make the trip I make every weekday whose not making on weekends is what makes weekends so special. No. I shall be brave. I shall get through today and tomorrow, somehow, without reading this novel that I'm smack-dab halfway through and had foreseen plowing onward toward the end over these two days. I've got lots of chores. I've got writing to do. I've got to organize my desk and get my act together, the latter a perennial and never accomplished chore.
I left the novel I'm reading on my friend's desk in Manhattan. I'm in Queens. I've got to hold out till Monday. I must be strong. I must think of other things.