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[personal profile] hiding_in_side
I expect I started seriously reading in middle school.  I read more in high school, but my middle school had a decent library and I remember spending a lot of time there. I don't remember what I was reading other then it being paperback.  Probably 90% of the books I've ever written have been small mass-market paperbacks.  Being lighter and cheaper was probably why I had access to them.

Once high school came around I was reading several hundred pages a day.  I remember burning through a series of books in a week.  I’d wait with baited breath for my favorite authors next book, then devour it overnight.  Oddly enough I don't remember much of what my homework in high school was.  I remember a little more work in college, but I was still a reading machine.  Even when I had a full time job I would burn through maybe a book every week or two.  I can read a 300 page paperback in a few hours.  I remember doing it all the time. 

Then I lost my job.  I’ve read a few books since then, mostly ones my favorite authors released, or something I got from the library.  Overall the reading has dried up.  I haven’t been buying books because they have no resale value and even if I get a book from the library I sometimes just stare at it then return it.  I had a few weeks where I was purging belongings in case I might need to move and I donated 8 moving boxes full of books.  I still have hundreds left. 

Reading has become a waste of time.  I’ve read a few graphic design program manuals, and such but few pleasure fiction books. Reading fiction books makes me feel guilty and sometimes nauseous.  As if I could do something else at 11pm at night that might get me a job, or a paycheck.  I’ve been sort of reading fan fic instead, but I’m fooling myself.  That is just as much of a time waste as books, it might even be worse with all the digging and checking I sometimes have to do to see if there is anything new.  

This weekend I had to take a short train ride in-town and I brought a book.  I’m now 80 pages into the book and really want to finish.  It’s sitting on my bedside table hoping I’ll just sit down and open it.  I don’t know if I can.

I need to find a job, and then maybe some of the guilt will dissipate.     
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February 2011

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