Obsessed

I knew it would begin with the end, and the end would look like death to these eyes. I had been warned.

Not these eyes. My eyes. Mine. This was me now.

Stephenie Meyer's new book, The Host, dropped Tuesday. I put myself on the waiting list at the library a few weeks ago, and I was perfectly okay with being 11th. I mean, I admit, I wasn't all that enthused to read it. After all, this was wholly separate from the Twilight series. No Edward. No Bella. No impossibly, epically, gut-twistingly angsty romance. No life-and-death situations whereupon death would be more welcome than spending eternity without the one your heart yearns for...

Wait...where was I again?

Oh, yeah. The Host. So anyway, even though I'd heard really good things about it, I still was leery. I mean, it's being described as sci-fi-ish. I'm always leery of the sci-fi genre, even though I have discovered jewels like Battlestar Galactica and Firefly amidst the weird puppet-y Farscape stuff.

And then I got to work, sat down to count drawers and compile the morning deposit, switching on Glenn Beck as I always do. Five minutes after I did this, he starts raving about Stephenie Meyer. His daughters love Twilight, and so he's become quite familiar with the series as well, and then he proceeds to read the first few paragraphs of Chapter One of The Host, including the above excerpt, and I stopped everything I was doing to listen.

And then instead of going to the bank, the other store, and back to the main store to continue about my day, I made a quick detour to Barnes and Noble to pick up my own copy.

I am hooked. So yeah. There will be no vacation recap, no pictures -- I probably won't even unpack (!!) until I'm done.

I'm only on Chapter 2 and although I already know it won't top Twilight -- I'm not sure anything ever will -- it's going to come dang close.