Lost in the Lacunae

Nap attacks aka lacunae of consciousness have struck within minutes of picking up Barbara Kingsolver's The Lacuna all week. It is not the fault of the story. The story is great and I crave getting swallowed up by it but every time that's about to happen my eyelids get in the way. Its the dregs of the cold I've been contending with for over a week.

It's been a long time since I've wished someone would read to me but I'd be willing to give it a try about now. But I don't have an audio edition of The Lacuna and this large weighty book is due at the library Monday.

I do have an audio of Stockette's The Help though and that book is calling to me since I had started it in Longview last August and had to leave it behind when I returned home. The audio queue was shorter by double digits than the text editions here so I got in both. Now I've had it for nearly a week already. I suppose the wise thing would be to accept the inevitable and let go of The Lacuna and return to The Help.

Alas. I'm probably more stubborn than I am wise.