A word devoid of meaning.

It's Friday, which, since I have to work on Saturday this week, is a statement that has lost its relevance. Yesterday morning at the end of my yoga practice, my teacher said, "Back when I was in undergrad, Thursday was the new Friday. So I hope you live your Thursday like it's a Friday today." A lovely notion, but seeing as how I can't even live my FRIDAYS like they're Fridays, it was lost on me. Moreover, when I was in undergrad, Wednesday was the new Friday. Clearly in Toronto we were a little bit ahead of the curve.

Anyway, the one thing we can all agree on is that we're at the week's end. I have a lot to do this fakest of fake weekends. In between a much deserved haircut, a lot of half-assed hours clocked at the reference desk, and taking self-portraits of me and my cat, I also intend to do a little bit of actual, non-magazine reading. Here's my to-do list.

1. The Bedwetter by Sarah Silverman. I started this last night (once I'd gotten through my priority-reading, a feature article on Ellen Degeneres in Shape Magazine. I know. In my defense, it was written by Jennifer Weiner, and therefore counts as literary non-fiction.). It is really, really funny and poignant. Colour me surprised. I've only seen a few snippets of Sarah Silverman on TV and on the internet, and her humour isn't exactly my cup of tea, but she makes a really excellent memoirist. From now on I am only reading autobiographies that feature accounts of taking too much acid and forgetting how to drive.

2. The Widower's Tale by Julia Glass. Working in libraries has maybe three perks, and one of these is access to publishers' reading copies. I love Julia Glass, and am constantly thrusting her books at everyone around me (it you haven't read Three Junes or The Whole World Over yet, I don't want to talk to you again until you've finished them), and this new one isn't out until September. You might say I'm travelling INTO THE FUTURE.

3. Crooked Little Heart by Anne Lamott. I just finished her latest, Imperfect Birds, which was, like all her novels, one of those books where you want to slow down your reading and make it last forever. She's got such a knack for characters, mothers and daughters and the hard love that comes with being a family. Her descriptions of Northern California make me want to jump in my car and drive. Her unassuming and surprisingly unannoying thoughts on faith and love and compassion make me want to devote myself to spirituality. And halfway through, I realized that these were the same characters that populated her earlier works, Crooked Little Heart and Rosie, so now I need to go back and visit some old friends in an older time.

4. Lonely: Learning to Live with Solitude by Emily White. Because sometimes you just want a book that you can read and just nod enthusiastically in agreement at everything therein, you know? Also, what an adorable cover!

TGIF, y'all.