Book? What’s A Book?

I used to be a reader. Big time. When I was younger, I tore through all the books on my parents bookshelves, age appropriate or not, it didn’t matter. As long as there was a front, a back and lots of words in-between, I was happy. Although, my 5th grade teacher was not appreciative of the fact that I was reading “Flowers In The Attic” during silent reading time. I think she was hoping for something more along the lines of a Beverly Cleary book or Judy Blume. I read those too, Mrs. Rousseau(my teacher), I just read them too fast. Besides, I liked my smut back then too.

The school librarian knew me very well and I was one of the only kids she let take 10 books out at a time because she knew I would get them back BEFORE the due date. Reading 10 books only took me a few days.

My favorite types of books were ones I got lost in. “The Egypt Game” and “The Witches of Worm” by Zilpha Keatley Snyder were two of my absolute favorites. I’ve actually recently reread those books, I bought them for my daughters. I still love them as much today as I did in 3rd grade when I first read them.

Nothing was better to me than grabbing a book and getting cozy in my bed with the big floral bedspread or snuggling into the center, elbow section of the sectional couch in my parents living room and immersing myself in a different time, place or world.

My reading appetite was ALWAYS voracious.

Until this blogging stuff came along and ruined my love affair with reading books. Or, maybe it’s my horrible case of Adult Onset A.D.D. I’m pretty sure though, I’ve always had that A.D.D problem. Only over the last, almost 4 years, has blogging been a factor. I’ve replaced literature with blog posts written lovingly by women and men who have become dear friends. I consider it to be reading autobiographies, a day in the life, one chapter at a time.

Instead of curling up in the elbow of my parents couch or bundled up under a floral comforter of my twin bed,

I sit, during all my free hours, with a hole burning into my lap from the heat of my laptop, mesmerized by the voyeuristic reading of blogs. Or straight and rigid at the kitchen table, my butt cheeks falling asleep due to the hardness of the chairs. You know, that’s not very comfortable by the way.

I bought myself a Kindle in hopes that, since I seem to only be able to read on mechanical device, maybe holding this small machine will renew and revive my passion for reading.

I downloaded a bazillion books, free ones AND ones I paid for.

I can’t find the darn thing anywhere. The last time I saw it, the battery was dead.

I need to get back to reading.

I need to get back to snuggling comfortably into the elbow section of my own couch.

Although, with all my kids and animals that have sat bare-bottomed on that couch, perhaps I should find another place.

Or another couch. Please, another couch. A stain free, inviting one.

Or, I could buy a nice padded toilet seat and lock myself in the bathroom.

One thing at a time. I have to walk away from my computer first.

Baby steps.

Could somebody read to me? I’m a bit rusty.

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