French toast, hash browns, and scrambled eggs

I went out for breakfast this morning with my mom and my grandfather - today is his 93rd birthday. He still drives and he still works two or three days each week. 

After breakfast, I went to see my grandmother on my dad's side. She's 87, lives on her own, and goes line dancing twice a week. She wants to have a big party when she turns 90.

I'll stop complaining about feeling old. It's ridiculous, really.  

I think about the books I read and the books I don't read. For an English major, I'm not the most patient reader. If I'm not engaged by the third page, whether it's by a character, a plot, or the quality of writing, I put down the book. I close it and leave its world without a second thought.  I want the author to get on with the story and not waste my time.  

I just want to get on with my own story. I'm in chapter three and the main character's still fumbling around. While there are still many pages to go, I'm getting impatient. I wish I could flip ahead to see what's coming. 

(To be clear, I'm speaking metaphorically).