I love to read. Growing up I loved to read. I would spend hours each day being lost in the world of Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, Joy Sparton, Rosamund Du Jardin...the list is really endless. I still have a lot of books from childhood and I've saved just about every book from my own children's childhood. I also have a nice-sized collection of Reader's Digest condensed books - I've read most of them - some I've read and re-read several times. But, lately, it seems like it is more and more difficult to carve out time for reading. Simply sitting down to read seems lazy, non-urgent, almost sinful. I tend to read for a short while right when I get in bed. But I find my mind wandering, not settling down, not focusing on the words on the pages. I read a phrase then spend 10 minutes daydreaming myself into a totally different world and topic and when I reluctantly pull back into the present, I've got to find my place in the book, backtrack a little to get some context, then go forward 'til the next daydreaming episode. Eventually, I wake up with my head on the book, glasses still on, and I put the book on the nightstand, vowing to try again the next night.
I'm hoping to re-capture this enjoyable pastime from my childhood in the coming months. It's a part of my creative self that has been dormant for far too long.