Life is too short to read mediocre books (and other thoughts from a rainy Saturday)

This rain makes me happy-sad.
I want to go back in time--just for the day--to a Saturday in the Townhouse, the kind where I'd wake up long before Jor, my roommate, and be sitting there in my Lucy-chair,  having had a million and one wonderful thought-adventures by the time she opened her eyes across the room and sleepily said good morning. I'd give her a minute to actually wake up before hopping into bed with her to explain some tidbit about Byronic Heroes or Christina Rossetti's poetry that I'd just read. She always loved how awake I was first thing in the morning. (This is sarcasm; oh, for ironic punctuation to be standardized.)

But no time travel for me today; my Tardis key is lying cold on my dresser, no lovely vworp vworp 
noises coming from the living room. I've been trying to figure out what to do with myself today. I have a nightstand full of library books, but none have really captured my interest as of yet. I'm contemplating making a Bag of Shame, where I can hide the books I've started but haven't wanted to finish, until I can take them back to the library. I hate not finishing books, but if I've learned anything from my recent burnout of YA Dystopian genre fiction, its that life is too short to read mediocre books, so I've been teaching myself that is okay to put that lifeless book aside for the one that feeds my soul.
Sadly, the one book I really crave reading right now is out on loan to a friend. But as soon as it comes back home... *sigh*

I Love... (the snowy day edition)

-the untouched morning sidewalks, my boots making the first prints.

-the Laura Ingalls spirit of can-do and resourcefulness that never fails to rise up in my imagination when presented with a challenge... like an iced over vehicle.

-the rushing feeling of life that follows

-the sweet, silent grey sky that never once lifts, the deserted streets, and how the two combined make for the most  wonderful feeling of having the world to yourself.

-an icy parking lot, and slidey boots, to entertain oneself with while one's car defrosts.

-the relief of breaking free of the ruts and gaining traction again, moving forward, headed home.


-icicles: on gutters, benches, bumper and mirrors.

-sheets of clear glass-ice, broken off and held in hand. Fairy window-panes.

-the silence of cold, the hush of snow, and the far-off rattle of ice.

-snow days, and returning home on them.

(your Soundtrack for the day)
Look at everything always as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time: Thus is your time on earth filled with glory.” 
― Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn