Monday, January 28th, 2013
All I Really Want to Do is Read
I mean it. All I really want to do is read. In the bath tub, on the john, while cooking, in three minute intervals when I’m waiting for someone, before bed, when I wake up, every free second. I’ll settle for a cereal box if I have to. If I’ve read a magazine, I’ll tackle it from the back to front just to refresh the material.
I read about three-five books a week. Essentially, I eat them. No, I’m not running from my life. I like my life. I am running to many many many other lives. I want them all. I’m life greedy.
Gobble, gobble, gobble.
Reading is not retreating, it is an expanding activity. Still I know it is an addiction because I am just a teeny tiny bit ashamed of how much I read and will hide it sometimes.
I am an executive coach when not reading and a cancellation of an appointment means guilt free reading time. I try to act disappointed as I reach for my book.
I resisted a Kindle thinking of it as betraying all my books. Now my iPad is the first thing I would grab in an emergency. In fact, in the middle of a heart attact, I was telling my husband to grab it before I went out the door to the hospital. (Did fine. Do take an aspirin. It works)
I do wish it looked more propductive to be reading. I have kidded about wanting an EXTREME READING CHALLENGE TV SHOW. “Joyce has read up to 9 books a week and is heading to twelve this coming week. Her challenger is strong but used to smaller books. This week these “extreme readers” will have to read War and Peace and be tested for retention as well as speed. Eye movement will be recorded for efficiency” Tough Mudder for Readers!
My husband does get jealous of my contant reading even though he is a writer and often has to leave me alone to write. There is something so private and self absorbed about reading, that I totally understand his jealousy. But reading is the most delicious addiction. I salivate in book stores.
I recently had a close relative tell me that he doesn’t read books. Just the newspaper. I mean, I have a real blinspot. I can not comprehend how to live a life without books. What do you do when you use the bathroom?
Most book addicts develop instantly and early in life. They remember the relief and joy of diving into their first really good book. Most are multi-book readers. They have at least three books going at the same time. To clease the palate so to speak. They range widely and so can be reading a book on
Coal mining in Pennslvania, a novel about ancient Greece and a thriller set in Romania. Book addicts have no rule about reading. They’ll jump pages and skip around as they want or dig in and underline. We (not “they” anymore–I totally fess up) panic if there is not a pile of books waiting to be read. Book piles are essential to the aesthtic of the greedy reader. A friend of mine told me yesterday that he received 17 books for Christmas and the glee on his face was kind of scary.
I’ve expended too many words. I need to go ingest some.
My sample books on my iPad await my choice.
All I really want to do is read. Or think about what I will read or have read.