I read a book

I say that like it’s an accomplishment. I read a book. I read my first book at about age 5; it was an accomplishment then.

But today, today still I feel like I did something grand, because the last time I read a book was, I dunno, last year maybe? Maybe just a couple books that whole year.

It’s crazy.

I am a reader. I am who I am because I am a reader. I do what I do for a living because I am a reader. I breathe. I sleep. I eat. I read. All with about equal ease and agility.

How can it be that I ever stopped reading?

I can blame it on moving to fixer-upperhood. I can blame it on failing eyesight and never having my glasses handy. I can blame it on the closest library having nowhere to park. I can blame it on HGTV. I can blame it on the 4 or 5 magazines I subscribe to. I can blame it on sitting in front of a computer all day and just wanting to turn my brain off at night. I can blame it on feeling like I’ll never find another book I love as much as the ones I already love.

I can blame it on a lot of things, but I can’t make sense of it. It appalls me. Scares me. I am a reader, dammit.

Except, sadly, I’m not anymore.

But maybe I will be again.

Last night I read a whole book.

Mike was out for the evening. I turned off the computer. I didn’t turn on the TV. I just curled up on the couch. Pulled a blanket over me. And read. And all the while, I thought, “I’m reading a book!” Like I had just discovered penicillin or something. It made me giddy.

I liked the book so much that today I mailed it to my sister. She’ll probably think, “Why did she send me this? It’s OK, but…”

She won’t understand that in it I discovered a long lost friend. No, more like a twin. Or a child. Or some part of me that I lost.

I had forgotten how good it felt. How wonderful it was to be carried away by someone else’s words…to live in their world for a while instead of my own.

It’s a feeling I won’t forget.

I am a reader…again.

This nice and subtle happiness of reading, this joy not chilled by age,
this polite and unpunished vice, this selfish, serene life-long intoxication.
~ Logan Pearsall Smith

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4 Comments

  1. Wednesday, October 20, 2010 at 10:35 pm

    I must know. What book? 🙂

  2. WritingbyEar said,

    Thursday, October 21, 2010 at 9:04 am

    boatdrinkbaby — Not a novel, surprisingly, but one woman’s story of caring for her aging parents. (http://tinyurl.com/26aesbz)

  3. facie said,

    Monday, October 25, 2010 at 10:48 am

    Maybe I need to read that book. I have had two weeks from hell dealing with my mom’s failing health and a hospital stay (she is still there). I want to write a blog post about it, but I just don’t know what to say, although I am pretty sure the title is going to be “When the child becomes the parent.”

    Anyway, I think it is great that you did that. It is hard to resist the temptation of HGTV…

  4. WritingbyEar said,

    Tuesday, October 26, 2010 at 11:23 am

    Facie, so sorry to hear your mom is in the hospital. That is always so trying! Hope she is soon on the mend and your psyche is too!


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