As a magical being, I have certain powerful charms at my disposal. I used some of them to snag a
boyfriend professional photographer, Adam Waz.
He usually takes pictures of engagements, or weddings, or bands, but he makes an exception for me. And I don’t even have to pay him for his gorgeous work. (Granted, it doesn’t take much to make me beautiful. While the shots of me featured on this blog all have creative angles, perfect clarity, and unique lighting, my stunning visage is never touched-up. This pooka’s au natural, baby. I don’t even use hairspray to fluff up my fur). Unfortunately, he is away on business this weekend. Please accept the sorry Microsoft Paint job that accompanies my answer to this week’s Feature & Follow in the interim.
This week’s question is:
Q: What do you do with your books after you’re done reading them?
A: Warning: Expect weirdness.
The very first thing I do after finishing a book is: I THROW THE BOOK ON THE GROUND. It’s not a sign of discontent and my intention is not to abuse the book. I don’t drop it off of tall buildings (couch-height is the highest I’ll go), and I don’t plop it onto a messy surface (just a well vacuumed carpet; my aforementioned beautiful fur gets everywhere). Dropping the book just makes a really satisfying, conclusive sound. It’s like snapping the cover shut, but amplified. I do it with books I’ve loved, books I’ve hated, books I’ve felt indifferent toward. It’s not normal. And it’s not ginger. I recognize that. And yet, I continue to do it. It just feels so good.
What I do with the book next depends on where I’ve gotten it from. If I’ve checked it out of the library (as is usually the case these days), I return it. Sometimes I even return it on time. If it’s my personal copy, I might do a number of things with it. I might put it back on one of my bookshelves (alphabetically, by the author’s last name). If I’ve really enjoyed it, I might push it on a friend, not taking “no” for an answer. Or, I might eat it.
That’s right. Eat it. I am – literally – a consumer of books.
If I’d taken the form of a horse, or a dog, as Pookas are sometimes wont, this might not be the case (though dogs are known for eating homework). But in bunny-form, I am often overcome with primal, lagomorphic urges. One of these urges is to chomp and chomp, n’ I just can’t stop.
Here’s my human friend, Alyisha, displaying what I did to (the bottom left-hand corner of) The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making:
I hope those of you who fold nary a page nor write a single word in the margins can forgive me. But if you can’t, know this, and envy me: I have more knowledge in my stomach than you do. And it sticks around for a long time. A piece of gum takes seven years to digest. A beautiful sentence just floats around inside of you forever, sometimes being drawn upon for mental energy. Book-eating’s not for everyone. I wouldn’t recommend it to a mortal man. I wouldn’t even recommend it to the more powerful mortal woman. But that’s this fey’s answer, honestly and directly. When I’m done with a book, I eat it.