I raced through 4 books at the start of the month: Murder in Retrospect, Being Mortal, Traitor’s Purse and Police at the Funeral, 3 of which I'd already read. And then I just... stopped.
Not entirely. I’d have to be properly ill to stop reading entirely, but I’d pick up a book, read a page or two, put it down and wander off, never to return. There are 5 unread books looking at me reproachfully from their various locations (bedroom table x 2, side of the bath, living room floor, bottom step of the hallway stairs).
So what do I do with my time? I fuss Mabel, I play online jigsaws (don't - I'm already fully aware of how sad that is), I read pointless magazines; the sort that tell you you'd be happier if you moved to the country and raised rare breed geese while running a handmade candle company, or if you just paired that dress with this bag and those shoes and ate that fabulous dish that took 12 hours to prepare, or if you took time to stare photogenically into space with a cup of tea while completing a downward dog and chanting along to the Sanskrit mantra playing in the background, preferably at 5 in the morning because, you know, all the best people are up and have completed their day by 5 in the morning.
Strangely, these magazines do not make me angry. They leave me feeling oddly reassured that during these mad times, there are still people able to write fluff pieces about how they found themselves simply by filing their receipts properly or by going on a yoga retreat in the Maldives that was gifted to them.
So the books have been neglected for nonsense but I'm not going to feel guilty about it. The pool I go to in the mornings has reopened, so that eats into more reading time. We're in the last mad-dash stages of getting the museum ready to open, so that takes up time. Something has to give. It's just that, for the first time ever, reading has been that thing.
But as Mabel purrs madly next to me and I turn the page to find out just how I can get my 44 year old skin to look like a baby's merely by drinking 12 gallons of water with lemon and applying some very expensive creams, I find that I'm okay with that.
As for the books I read? Go get yourself Being Mortal. Thoughtful, well researched and written with care, it was a joy and an eye opener. It's time we regained understanding of what it means to be human, to be mortal.
I'm curious to know, people who pass by this blog: what is it you're reading? Are you still able to focus? Have your reading habits completely changed? Too many questions??