14

I started reading 14 today.

The story grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and refused to let go. I downloaded the audio book yesterday and started listening in the car this morning as I left for work. I backed out of the garage and my wife was wondering why I was sitting in the car staring at the dashboard for almost three minutes before I got out to close the gate. I do not remember driving to work. I do remember parking outside my office and sitting in the car until the security guard came over to ask if I needed any assistance. I do not want to work today. It has taken a mammoth effort of will to break away from the book to write this post this morning.

The last time I felt like this about a book was when I first chanced upon Enid Blyton's Mystery series in primary school. I remember wishing the world would just leave me alone until I finished the book. I did not want my mother to ask me if I wanted milk or lunch. I remember wishing my friends would stop bothering me repeatedly asking if I wanted to come out to play or whatever it was that they were jabbering about.

Now if you will excuse me, I am going to shut the door to my cabin and hope everyone thinks I am not to be disturbed.