I'll be kicking myself later

Okay, so I'm supposed to be studying, right? I realize that. And I realize that the overwhelmingly common theme to my professors' advice when it comes to studying for my boards is "don't tarry." (Dr. Keefner's words, not mine) But I finished reading a somewhat depressing--yet thoroughly classic me--FBI thriller novel about government corruption and terrorism this morning, and I needed a pick-me-up. I got a little bit of productivity in, covering cholinergic and adrenergic drugs briefly and finishing up with the top 25 nutraceutical products (still not quite sure that it's necessary for those to be on the NAPLEX), but overall the day was a wash. Until...

Sundays at Tiffany's. Seriously. I love a good James Patterson novel as much as the next guy. His Alex Cross books can be a little too dark and serial killer-esque for pure enjoyment, but Women's Murder Club rocks my face off most of the time. And Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas and Sam's Letters to Jennifer prove he's not a genre writer. I even like what I've read of the Maximum Ride series (does this guy ever stop writing?). But none of his books have hooked me like this one. I read about it online and rushed to Target to buy it. Lack of willpower disaster #1. Then I thought I'd use it as a study reward and I could only start reading it if I had a brilliantly productive day, or week. Disaster #2. I started it today and the only reason I haven't finished it yet is because I'm savoring it, reading far more slowly than normal, trying to prolong the escape it provides. It's escape as only books can give me, and it's been perfect. I could write how well-written the characters are or how realistic the dialogue and sentiments have been. Or how the descriptive prose makes New York come to life for someone who has never seen it with her own eyes. But really, as usual, the enjoyment comes from being able to place myself in the protagonist's shoes as she discovers the love of her life. Sigh. I'm not done yet, but when I am, I'll be telling everyone I know to go find a copy and disappear for a few hours into a wonderful fantasy world. And it is fantasy, because I haven't even told you the worst part. It's a book about a woman who falls in love with her imaginery friend from childhood. Yup, I've gone off the deep end.