All my life I’ve loved books. My mom always insists I taught myself to read while looking at books instead of taking a nap. I still don’t nap well, and even have a hard time putting a book down at 11:50 PM instead of getting much needed sleep before my 6:00 AM alarm goes off. I am currently in the middle of 2 different series (Sookie Stackhouse & Dexter ), reading an advance reader copy (The Crystal Bird), and reading a free book from Amazon (How to Catch a Bad Guy ) on my kindle. In addition to that chaos, I am reading the Little House on the Prairie series to my girls at night.
It’s irritating when people say, “I hate to read”.
There is nothing like the pull of a good book to remove you from reality and sink you into it’s depths right next to the main character. Was I afraid while Harry defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, of course. Was I flipping the pages as fast as possible while Harry Bosch tracked down yet another criminal, yes. And often couldn’t put it down until the latest installment was read. Do I feel let down and sad after I finish a series? Yes. Do I often pretend that the characters are real? Yes, who doesn’t? To me, saying you ‘hate reading’ is like saying “I hate to breathe”. I’m sorry you were forced to grow up with out an imagination. I feel bad that you don’t take time to unwind and let your mind wander.
I would rather buy a new book for $10 than buy two beers at a bar.
I am a nerd/bookworm/homebody/geek and proud of it.
On a less bitchy note, I ran last night. I ran to the hardware store to cut two house keys and grab a couple of night light bulbs. It was a little over 2 miles round trip and the weather was wonderful. I thought I was doing well on the way there. The route was super easy and tolerable. I realized my gaffe when I noticed the sloping hill I just ran down. Let’s just say I did not have a negative split.