Darn Lewis.

I'm supposed to be doing my homework. I have a paper due tomorrow. I long paper, on a difficult topic. I have research to do for another assignment. I must escape all distraction. I turned off my Broadway play list because it was too likely to make me want to dance and sing along. I avoided my acquaintances, especially the ones who look like they might become friends. I hid in the most sparsely populated floor of the library; the third floor, far from the computers, far from the librarians and the printers and the DVDs. I sat down down the aisle from a clock so I won't be late for my next class. I worked very hard for about an hour. Then I looked over my shoulder. How did I end up next to this particular aisle?

Drat! Three shelves full of book bindings all bearing the name "C. S. Lewis."

Did I tell you that I had to buy no less than sixteen books for school this semester? Many of them are novels, which is kind of nice. The bottom line is that I have NO time for pleasure reading.
It's no good. All those lovely words full of truth and stories and humor and Christian common sense. They are all deceptively thin books. A collection of essays on stories. That can't be too demanding, right?
So I dive right in. The intro by someone, oh enviable person, who knew Lewis personally has me totally hooked by his short biographical summary. I've read Lewis' story so many times, you would think I could skip this part. I'm very detached until we get to the part where Tolkien shows up.
I don't know who I love more; Tolkien for being God's messenger to Lewis, or Lewis for demanding a story of Tolkien. It's probably a good thing that I don't know where they keep his books. (As I type this, I'm listening to the Return of the King Soundtrack. The Dark Tower just fell and the Eagles are carrying Frodo and Sam back to safety. Rene Flemming is singing. *Sigh*)

I sure hope I can pull myself out long enough to finish my paper. It's time for lunch.