Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.

I don't remember a time when I didn't read. I try to remember that age, maybe four or three, when the letters didn't make sense yet, when an 'A', a 'T' were just shapes like triangles and squares. When was that moment, the crossing over to words?

I've always had a book in my lap, in my hands, hiding in the corner of a party, curled up next to me in the dark and illuminated by flashlight, then later book-light.

As I even profess to believe in a particular religion, the truth is, reading is my religion. Reading is my meditation, my prayer. At every twist and turn of my life it's been there to buoy me. I have grasped novels like life rafts in the dark night of depression, pushed out greif, banished boredom, and sought out hope, with books.

I have a small collection of library cards, one from each of the cities I've lived. After securing a permanent address (or strong-arming a friend into letting me use his address), it's the first place I go. For if ever there was a Beit HaMidrash, it is the library.