Oh The Douchebaggery

I have recently been introduced to a book-sharing club (by proxy, thank you! I am not at all that nerdtastic!).

I don't buy books anymore.
I have moved often enough to learn that accumulating books is moot.
I mean, once they are read, they are read.

My father called me a couple of months ago asking my permission to ditch the library I had growing in his garage.
Yessir!

I loan books from the library.
I own a few essential tomes...
Please Kill Me, Lovesigns!!!, Roget's Thesaurus...the classics!

So, color me tickled when I find a venue for sharing books that doesn't involve actual pay for purchase.

The fun thing about this literary community is that you never know what to expect.

One week it could be some Tuesdays with Morrie affair, the next, The Collected Works of Will Shakespeare.

Shit runs the gamut.

I recently received a book entitled Into Thin Air.
I am obsessed.

I dig non-fiction, mainly because most modern fiction seems hackneyed and makes me doubt my chosen dubious profession.
Reading is a lost sport, sadly.

And writing is the Chicago Cubs of professions.

Ouch.

So, I would have never gone to a book store and chosen this account of an Everest climb. It was chosen for me

I am going to give a shout out to my N.C. friends 'cause they know I like to hike.

I adore making mountains my bitch.

I have fervently climbed to peaks well after daylight has given way and resources and reserves were low, whilst pushing for the summit.

I'm not fooling myself.

I know Everest is no Candy-Mountain land..but gosh, darnit! I have made climbing Everest my new "goal to achieve-before-I-die".

If one Sandy "reprehensible" Pittman can do it, for the love of god..so can I.