Peeker

I always peek at the end of books. This has nothing to do with a When Harry Met Sally-like cynicism, but just an uncontrollable desire to just know. Maybe I have to verify that the book actually does end and the characters don't exist. I don't know, but I always peek. I'm a peeker-- I used to sneak down stairs every Christmas Eve just to verify that the presents were, in fact, there. I had to know! What if they weren't? As if my peek-age would affect the outcome of Christmas morning, or the end of a book.
Example 1: I peeked at the end of New Moon when I was about 100 pages in. There was no doubt in my mind that Edward was coming back, but I had to verify, mostly to find out when the ridiculous vapidity of that novel would be over.
Example 2: I'm finishing the last book in a series by Megan McCafferty, which is enjoyable mostly because the main character, Jessica Darling, is the #1 literary character who is most like me- the moodiness, the caustic criticism that is kept mostly within the confines of my head, the rapt attention to popular culture. But anyway, I'm half way through the last book, and I don't really want to know if the two main characters get married, but some nagging pull at the back of my brain, rationalized by just checking to see how many more pages I have, forces me to look at the end of the book. I didn't really see anything, and I don't really know the end, but I still feel like I cheated myself out of something.
I swear... the next book I read I will not look at the end, even to see how many pages it is.

This is a pledge I will probably not keep.

Today I had the exciting opportunity to pluck the first gray hair from my head. I had no idea that it was such a delight to lean over the sink in the bathroom only to look up and notice a glaring gray strand in your hair screaming, "You may think you're only 22, but you're getting older by the second, and you're going to die alone!!!" The hair actually specified that there were three exclamation points after that sentence. There was nothing to do but call my friend who (bless him) has been graying since tenth grade, though his gray hairs look peppered and distinguished, like Anderson Cooper. Mine look like I'm growing a wart on the end of my nose and my skin is turning green.
Also, due to the fact that my life is so action-packed, I read an entire book this evening, which I suppose was slightly more thought provoking than watching another episode of House Hunters, a show which is reminiscent of a five-paragraph essay-- intro, 3 body paragraphs, and a conclusion. The book was Spanking Shakespeare by Jake Wizner, and it was hilarious in all of the truths that it tendered. It has the distinct honor of being the only book written in my "Books I Have Read" notebook that I put three stars next to. I'm not sure what those three stars mean, but it is something good, I assure you.