This year has been difficult, and by difficult, I mean it has sucked and promises to continue sucking for a very long time. Because I’m not looking to vent about anything that’s happened, or am I looking for pity, (or feeling the need to answer personal questions), let’s just accept that’s where things are right now and move on. OK? Thanks. (I knew I could count on you.)
With life being so uncooperative, my reading suddenly became non-existent. I’m saw words but I wasn’t really reading. I took some time off. I re-grouped. I stared at my bookshelves. I pondered. I scrolled the books on the Nook. I’d start a book. I’d put the book down. It became a pattern. I’m a reader? Why can’t I read?
Eventually, words made sense again. The stories started to take on a soothing quality. I was no longer stressing over reading. I read slow. I savored. I went to my comfort reads: fantasy and Arthurian legend. I discovered a new series. I’m now reading all those graphic novels on my shelf.
I’ve started to acquire books again. I’m looking forward to new releases by a few favorite authors.
In the next days and weeks, I might even feel like talking about books again.