For the last few weeks, I have been dedicating my spare (and not so spare) time to reading the archives at Que Sera Sera. She is funny and sad and smart and sarcastic and pretty gosh darn great all mixed up into one.

I get obsessed, I know. I was the same with One Good Thing and Frog’s Blog and Finslippy and Dooce. I can’t help it. In fact, if my life was perfect, I would snap my finger and everything that these amazing women have ever written would appear, in book form, right in front of me. Because, yes, the internet is great and all, but it’s not mine. I can’t put it into my purse and carry it with me. I can’t lend it to my friends and tell them it’s the best internet ever and they have to read it. If I’m stuck waiting in line or, God forbid, an elevator, I can’t amuse myself by reading something they’ve written and laughing quietly to myself (oh, who am I kidding? I snort). And, if my computer thwarts me, like it is known to do, somedays I am deprived. And I hate that.

So if the five of you would just work with me on the whole book thing, I would be a much happier person. Honestly, I don’t care if you just take everything you’ve written on the internet and print it off and bind it, I would pay for that. I don’t care. Just, you know, if you could autograph it for me, that’d be really cool.

I’m serious. Really. I relate so much better to books. And I could collect everything you wrote (I’m working on owning every book by Mil Millington and Nora Roberts). And you could have your own bookshelf when I own my mansion. Okay?

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