This morning, I woke up to see everything covered in white, followed by the quick realization that my heater wasn't working. Usually, my snowy days involve a lot of groaning and a loud refusal to leave the warmth of my blanket, but today? I was on board with leaving and going to work.
As I side-stepped the lovely snow-now-water puddles that formed curbside, I realized that all I really wanted to do was read. I wanted to get a giant, tottering pile of books and read while occasionally looking over at the spines of books I had yet to crack into. I wanted to be surrounded by these books, marveling over how warm, welcoming and dry the pages were, contrasted against the snow/slush accumulation outside.
Rather than playing hooky in my freezing apartment, I did the next best thing. I went into my (obvious) place of work, Brookline Booksmith, and was sated enough by the proximity of books, the shelves, the aisles filled to bursting with new pages and tomes for me to consume, and most beautifully? The fully functional heater.