I read a lot as a kid. A LOT. I didn't really have a lot of friends for lots of reasons- my family lived on a lake, my neighborhood had few children my age, and we experienced debilitating winters. (My lack of friends had nothing to do with my social awkwardness- that came later in middle school.) I read so much that my parents bought me any and every book I ever wanted. I read a lot of Beverly Cleary, Judy Blume, American Girls, and Babysitter Clubs. I inhaled those books.
A book that really stuck with me is Socks by Beverly Cleary. Socks was about a cat who felt neglected after her human family had a baby. The only reason I know that is because I looked it up recently. You see, I never finished Socks. And it haunts me to this very day.
Due to the ghost of Socks I haven't been able to bring myself to start a new book until I finish the previous one. My personal albatross has left me with very little literary headway. I'm currently 300 pages into Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell- a 700 some page book. I put it down 180 pages in not enjoying it very much. I was making myself finish that son of a bitch. Mike thinks I should've given it up and moved on to the countless other books I keep in waiting. But NO! Jonathan Strange will not be the second coming of Socks! So. I have allowed myself to slowly move through Jonathan Strange while reading other books in the meantime.
I am breaking my own rule to follow another and it is not as liberating as one would think. Rules are not meant to be broken! I should let it slide since I'm starting to enjoy Jonathan Strange and I'm reading some great books in the meantime. This is turning into a win-win situation.
But I have to confess, I still haven't finished Socks. I don't know why I haven't. It's still in print. I go to bookstores all the time- I can just go buy it for myself. I can even go to the library! How novel. (Pun not intended.) Maybe I'm scared. Maybe I put it down for a reason. Maybe it didn't speak to me- I'm not a cat... but I was replaced by my brother.... Anyway, what if I've built up one of the greatest authors of young literature and I don't want her pedestal to crumble down around me?
Whichever reason it is, I wonder if my obsession with Socks is manifesting itself in other ways. I am obsessed with socks. I ask for them every gift giving occasion. I LOVE socks. I am also obsessed with my cat. I LOVE my cat. Now that I think about it, my favorite pair of socks has cats on them... Huh...