I realized, when I entered the latest title in the file that I have started using to keep track, that I have read nearly 20 books so far this contract. Only two of those have I not completely finished – H is For Hawk – which I keep coming back and forth to, and Murder at 48 Below: True Stories of Crime in Alaska which is a typical souvenir ‘history’ book that reads kind of like a cheap dime novel…despite what it’s about, I can’t quite take it seriously.
But…15 books…in under three months.
Maybe Amras is right, maybe I do have a bit of a reading addiction. However, wise man that he is, he has learned to give me space when I’m buried in the page. I was tucked up with Stephen King’s Revival (weird book, not scary, just weird), and was nearing the end over lunch break…waiting for him to finish eating, when he had done so I dutifully put the book down.
You can keep reading hun, I’m sure you would rather be reading.
I have trained my former big brother well.
I’m saving Les Mis until the last month of my contract. Amras goes home at that point so it may be the perfect time to delve into post-revolutionary France in order to distract myself.
Deep down, I know that I am reading so much because I am escaping from something. I’m always a compulsive reader (there are worse addictions in life), but when I’m gobbling this many books at once, it usually means there’s something I’m trying to avoid thinking about. I know what it is, I know what’s riding piggyback in my subconscious, but it’s not something that’s in my control, so I don’t think about it. Or at least I pretend not to think about it. I read instead. A lot.
And I embroider.
Neverland is almost ready to take flight. I have nearly completed the actual cross-hatching, after which it will only be decorative stitches and such. I think I’ll leave the hands on big ben for last, there’s something final about sewing in the time. But there’s still a long way to go until then. I’ve long neglected posting photos, I really should fix that.
But really, life just continues on. People don’t really realize that my life – as National Geographic as it sometimes may be – is really just a life like any other.