I stand, poised at the moment of indescision, Fields of Greens: New Vegetarian Recipes from the Greens Restaurant -or- A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. A book rests in each hand, weighing like the scales of justice, “What will I need/want over the next few months?”

My backpack looks up at me, plaintively, “Not another book…please.”

I’m stuck. The clock is ticking. Do I really need the Greens’ pie crust recipe? Am I really going to re-read 1000 Plateaus? I flip through the Greens’ cookbook remembering the pie crust takes over a day to make. I put it down. Pie season lies in the past, and distant future. I pick up D&G, flip through it. Will metaphors of rhizomatic growth and machinic assemblage keep my interest in the Providence winter? I remember the book’s essential vagueness, and doubt it. Elizabeth suggested reading D&G as poetry so I think I will leave both behind and borrow one of my mother’s (short) books of verse.