On the subway, I read all the signs. Even the Spanish ones. If you see something, say something. Si usted ve algo, diga algo. I try to infer how “algo” contributes to both phrases; that is what occupies my language-oriented brain. I puzzle out all the words on the LEARN ENGLISH NOW! Cards, fascinated by the relations between the Romance languages. I nearly miss my 14^th St stop because I am studying the map of the 123 line I all ready know.

Sex and the City’s Carrie once screamed, “I have an addiction, sir!” She meant her cigarette, a habit I think California and Bloomburg are right to condemn, but I’m not sure I have the right to feel righteous when I, too, have an addiction.

If my mother and I are out to lunch, and she goes to the bathroom, I pull out my book.

If I am nearing the end (read: within 100 pages) of a 473 page novel, I will bring another 628 page novel along as a backup. I will do this for a week and a half in which I have almost no time to read Novel A in the first place, stealing only a few pages on the bus ride home or before bed. I do not feel the extra weight.

I no longer bring magazines with me because they are too short. I finish my favorite in an hour each month. I wish they would publish more often.

My one wish is to be able to download words into my head. I want to be able to finish Gone With the Wind in the shower, and literally fall asleep reading Harry Potter against my closed eyelids. Audio books defeat the purpose, and besides, they go too slowly.

Sir, I am addicted to reading and rereading and yet again reading “Start” on my Windows toolbar, “Stop” on street signs. It is impossible not to. Even if the sign says stop, I can’t.

Richenda Gould, 19
Princeton, New Jersey