I’m a big reader. I am. I always have been. This year I have managed to make my way through 127 books. This is an extraordinary year. I usually aim for 100. Sometimes I make it, just barely, and sometimes I don’t. There have been a lot of short books this year and a lot of graphic novels, which I know helped the number, but I am damn impressed anyway.
So, how can I say that I miss reading?
Well, basically because I am not reading. I have a pile of books that I want to read and pile of books that I have to read. I have four books to get through for work and I wanted to be done with them by the new year. But I just can’t. I don’t want to read them and the way that I am handling that is by not reading at all.
On Thursdays, Hubby goes to his brother’s house to play games and usually stays until I am in bed. I get home late but one of the things that I like to do when I get home and have some time to myself is read. December is particularly great for this. The Christmas tree is lit and I can put a fireplace on the television and curl up on the couch with a book and some tea and a blanket. It’s cozy and wonderful and the cats like it too. I can tell myself that I will do this when I get home but I can tell you right now that I probably won’t.
Why not? Well, I’m tired. It’s been a long day. My eyes hurt. I want to go to sleep. I got up this morning, got ready, did all of my stuff around the house, drove an hour to my doctor’s appointment, was surprised by a blood test, dropped Hubby off 20 minutes away, drove back toward home about 25 minutes, had lunch with Mom, and then went to work. That’s a lot and I need to make a stop on the way home that I don’t want to make.
And the truth is that even if I have time to read tonight at work, I probably won’t. My brain just isn’t in it. Maybe an audiobook while I lay in bed later. That would at least be something.