just another….

At three years old, I learned how to read.

At six years old, I learned that I could sit on my windowsill and read by the very last stretches of daytime light.

At ten years old, I learned how to sneak a flashlight under my comforter and read as long as I like.

And yet, by now, you would think that I would learn not to read after dark. When one reads after dark, the dark has this nasty habit of growing shadows where there were none before, and the world grows wavy and somehow not-quite-real, even if and when the book itself is benign, although considerably moreso if it is not. And just when you think the world can’t get any shadowy-er or wavy-er, the dark turns into light. But just one more chapter…