I need rehabilitation. Like chocolate while you’re PMS-ing or a hot-leaving-you breathless kiss in the middle of the night, cheap books are terribly very hard to resist. I shouldn’t have walked with Kats to Robinson’s. This is her fault.
Galileo’s Daughter, the title speaks for itself. As in Galileo Galilei and the eldest of his illegitimate children, whom he entered in a convent at the age of thirteen. And First Novel, translated from French, penned by Mazarine Pingeot, the illegitimate daughter of former French president Francois Mitterrand.
I bought another one I haven’t been able to find in local bookstores which is Jodi Picoult’s The Pact. My third Picoult book, only one of which I managed to read.
In all, that’s 360 pesos I will never see again, and it matters to me, who’s poor as a rodent, as in the type that roams Padre Faura, wet and balding, and as big as a Coke bottle. Yuck.
Nevertheless, as I tap my inner feelings, I know I’m happy with the way I’m ruining my life by buying paper instead of food. My mother has to figure out how to stew book pages just in case. And my latest buys, along with every book I have, won’t be given up without a fight. You have to kill me first.
Wah, scary ‘no?