Bookworm

When I was a little girl, I devoured books. My favorite places were the local library and Waldenbooks. I liked nothing better than settling into my Dad's big (enormous at the time, given my size) recliner with a book and staying there until I was done. I remember crying my eyes out after finishing Charlotte's Web, and a few years later, The Bluest Eye. I loved reading so much that I majored in English in college. When college ended and I was faced with working rather than reading, I did the obvious thing: I went to grad school.

For the larger part of the last three years, I have been a member of the workforce. In that time, reading has become a sporadic and at times nonexistent hobby. Spending anywhere from eight to ten hours a day staring at a computer screen has come to mean that even though I want to read at night, I can't bring myself to open a book. I gravitate toward passive, mind-numbing television shows and trashy celebrity gossip magazines replete with more glossy photos than actual words. I wonder where the unadulterated joy that used to accompany my reading has gone, and how I can get it back. It would be nice if the key was a nice, cushy recliner, but it's probably not that simple. I don't think I'll give up though. I suspect this just a hiatus, albeit a longer one than I'd like.