What happened to that kind of excitement about reading? Today when I try to sit down to read, excitement is replaced with responsibilities and distractions. No matter how many times I promise myself I'll watch TV less and read more, I end up giving in to "just once through the channels" and an hour passes without me having focused on any one show. A mindless, wasted hour filled with bits and pieces of a dozen shows I wouldn't waste the electricity to watch - yet I just blew the hour anyway. If it's not the TV, it's the un-folded laundry or the dusty shelf that niggles at the back of my mind, reminding me what I "should be" doing instead.
As a child, I read only books that attracted me. I never forced myself to read a story that didn't grab my attention. There were no "should be's" in chidlhood reading. Now, that annoying librarian in my head says "You should be starting the 1001 Books to Read Before You Die. You're not as young as you used to be!" My conscience says "You should be reading books about socially relevant issues." My blogging alter-ego says "You should be reading the current trends and hot bestsellers. That's what people want to hear about."
Being a woman "of a certain age" comes with it's own distractions. Gone are the days of sitting cross-legged in an oversize chair or holding a book under the covers for hours. First my lower back begins to ache, then the restless legs twitch. My arms tire in one position so I shift frequently. I'm loosing feeling in my left hand, and now my hip hurts...
I want that youthful enthusiasm back. That one-lane focus that blocks out everything but the joy of reading. An excitement for a story that outweighs sleep and hunger. How do you balance books and real life? Do you have a special place where you can always get comfy and read? Do you still feel like a kid when you get a new book?