Crows having dinner

Sometimes, for work, I fly on Sundays. When that happens, I have to find something fun to do on the plane to prevent me from dipping into a crippling state of depression. I always get the Sunday night blues (think: last day of summer break. times ten. every weekend.) So when I travel on Sundays, I have to work extra hard not to get down. Since sitting in a seat on a plane is not unlike sitting in the back of cozy coupe and being 6 feet 2 inches tall, my options are limited.

Were planes made in the dark ages when the average height was 5' 4"? Do midgets walk on planes and feel at home? How does anyone taller than me POSSIBLY fly? Do you really have to make 100 screeching loud announcements about the weather? Do you not see I'm trying to listen to music? Does anyone, except perhaps professional golfers, even remotely care about the direction of the wind at their destination?!

Sorry for the outburst, internet. I blame Delta. (and Delta's my favorite! Of course, being my favorite commercial airline is like being my favorite terminal disease)

So, this Sunday, before being boxed up and shipped out East, I entered the Madison Airport gift shop, which is primarily stocked with "Drink Wisconsibly" T-shirts and cow and cheese paraphernalia. 

obviously these come in badger red and packers green and yellow - what else?

I desperately searched a book display so disorganized that it gives my bedroom a run for its money. And my desk throughout college looked like this.

Who needs to alphabetize when you can put 100 books on a shelf willy nilly? Every other book is a young adult dystopian novel, so what difference does it make?

When I started to risk missing my flight, I caved.

Me to cashier: Do you guys have any George R. R. Martin books?

Cashier: looks at me as if I am speaking in foreign tongues 

Me: Game of Thrones?

Cashier: Oh, we only have one - something about dinner for crows...

Me: THAT'S THE ONE I NEED!

Thus, A Feast for Crows was procured, a flight was caught, and an obsession was rekindled.

It's been about a year since I visited Westeros, and I've read many great books in the interim. I dabbled in nonfiction more than ever before - thoroughly enjoying Onward by Howard Schultz, Open by Andre Agassi, and Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg.

I loved Open and Onward - however, whilst reading Lean In, I had to simultaneously consume Lev Grossman's The Magicians in order to ensure I was being thoroughly entertained.

Despite other successful reads, the land of dragons, knights, incest, murder, and one particularly cunning dwarf was calling me back.

So, as fair warning, I may be preoccupied for the next few months. And I can't promise my blog won't suffer. I mean, my personal hygiene might suffer.

Everyone says the fourth book is the worst book in the series, but being the worst Game of Thrones book is kind of like being the worst candy. Which, for the record, is way better than being the best airline.