Troutbend's husband's library books made me think about my book habits. I have had to set strict rules, because I have gotten several injuries reading.

I guess other people get hurt doing strenuous things, huh? Not me. I have permanently injured my left thumb by reading in bed, holding the book open with my thumbs. It's too hard on them.

And some years ago I had to go to the doctor for pain medication because I stayed up all night reading -- propping myself up on one elbow. It was such a good book I just stayed frozen until I finished it. The next day, I couldn't breathe without pain. All around my sternum and ribs the connective tissue was badly strained.

And when I was younger and messier, I'd leave my bed unmade, with books in it. One night I went to bed, rolled over and yelled in pain. The large hardback dictionary was there.

Some stories have a profound impact. I remember I was reading The Light in August (Faulkner) while on the bus. The part where the main character is on the run, hiding in cornfields and finding nothing to eat but hard raw corn and being ill... made me so ill I had to get off the bus in the middle of town, far from where I was going. It took a while before the story left my head and stomach alone.
And that's just one example. Ever since I was a little kid, books did that kind of thing to me. So does music, for that matter. In fact it's more intense with music, so I don't really listen to a lot. Not like other people do. Listening to music all day feels to me like eating sugar all day: Unbearable! (I have theories on why this is. It's because I'm a lemon-juice introvert.)

At home, if I feel sick with nausea or headache, I like to find something like James Herriott -- those easy, comforting All Things Bright & Beautful, or Warm & Wonderful, or whatever all the titles are. They are as soothing as anything I can think of.

And at night if I want to read in bed, which I nearly always do, I am allowed to read only books I've read before, so this might mean Agatha Christie or some old science fiction. I have to sit straight up, and I have these elastic bands (hair bands, actually) to hold the pages open. I try to wear my hand splints too, if I can tolerate them. Reading in bed now is merely moving my eyes over text I know very well, and the story has no surprises to keep me awake. It's just an exercise to lull me to sleep. Frequently, I fall asleep sitting up, so I make sure I'm completely pillowed in behind my back, my neck, under my knees for support.

Man, am I a wimp.