What I am supposed to be reading:

Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie. A poetic and philosphical exploration of the class system in India, full of thick metaphor, obscure allegory, and deep political and religious underpinnings. The divergent writing style, heady vocabulary, and constantly shifting plot points are making this a very hard read. (book club is on Sunday, and I’m 166 pages in of this 525 page book).

What I’d like to be reading:

The Twighlight Series. Mindless, young adult fiction about a virtuous young woman and a mysterious hottie vampire. Full of suspense and forbidden romance. Every person I know is reading this, talking about this, staying up all night to finish this. I’m tired and nauseas, and it sounds like just what the doctor ordered. I have all four books of this series sitting on my nighstand, mocking me as I sift through this heavy and tedious Rushdie book.