I think it is said of alcoholics that one drink is too many, and that there are never enough. The same can be said of bookaholics. With all of the extra holiday preparations facing me yesterday, I made an error in judgment and picked up a book. The morning was sunny and the bench on the deck was calling to me like the Lorelei. I'll just sit for twenty minutes, maybe a half-hour. I'll read just the first chapter, maybe two. When the sun had moved over and the bench was in shade, I moved into the house, still reading. The morning was already shot, so why not stoke the fire and read just a few more pages? Then I'll get busy and do double-time on the to-do list. I turned the last page in time to put the kids to bed at dusk. There is an old black-and-white movie starring Ray Milland called "The Lost Weekend." With the best of intentions to attend to obligations, he ended up at the bottom of a bottle. I understand.