Ever since I was little I cannot remember taking my time reading a book. I was always swept into stories and excitedly tore through the pages, grasping for the finish. I am still obsessed with that transportation and the way it makes me see the world with fresh eyes.
It however does not go well with my current lifestyle.
As a child and teenager I could easily read all day without interruption and fairly late into the night with little consequence. During the summer I turned into a nocturnal creature appreciative of the quiet and coolness that came with the night. I loved most assigned reading throughout high school and college (there are always exceptions of course) and even while a nanny in Seattle I immersed myself during nap times and happily finished once I got home.
But now, my binge reading does not work very well. To carve out time I ignore and distract and hide away trying to eek out another chapter. The house gets messier and everyone is crabbier.
Except for me of course. I am contentedly reading away; lost in another world for a few moments before I am inevitably forced to snap back to reality.
A reality that I LOVE.