It is funny how one gets attached to certain copies of books. Tan leather-bound, thin, with gold edges for the Christmas after my decision to become a Christian. A black leather-bound, silver-edged wide-margin version that I bought later to satisfy my scribbling studies. A small pink pocket-sized New Testament, Psalms and Proverbs that my grandmother gave me (I wrote my name in it when I was four, and wrote my name in everything because I finally could, but could never bring myself to carry around a pink book).
I recently lost my study version and was feeling a little bit traitorous and not at all comfortable reading out of The Message (contemporary translation, not bad but definitely lacking) at night. Thankfully my more familiar copy was found in the trunk of the car (where I had left it once upon a Sunday).
Same goes for other books, though. I am very picky about copies of Tolkien and Lewis. Don't tell, though.
Oh, sleepy girl, go to bed!