I read an entire book today.
I also picked tomatoes, fed and watered the deer, dead headed all the flowers, cleaned out the fridge, ordered groceries and then hauled them in and put them away.
And then I read. The rest of the day. Afternoon turned into evening and then the sunset. I finished the book in the bathtub.
I always kind of wrestle with whether or not reading for hours should be considered wasting time. It never feels like that to me at the time. What could possibly be more important than finding out what happens in the story?
But later, when the hours have slipped past I feel a sort of guilt for just sitting around reading a book.
My husband is not a reader. I mean, he reads the news and he learns a lot from the internet- like how to fix the washing machine or replace an inner ball joint, but he’s never read a novel outside of what he had to read in school.
When someone makes a comment about a show or a commercial and I just shake my head and say, “I don’t know, I don’t watch much TV outside of hockey” J always says,
“She’s a reader,” like that explains everything.
When we first lived together, he discovered my tendency to stay up way too late to read because I can’t stand not to know what’s going happen.
Not being a reader he did not understand.
Not being accustomed to living with or answering to anyone else, I stayed up late purposely for a week after he mentioned it.
I mean, if you had to make a list of all the things your wife could do to annoy you, reading has got to be pretty far down on the list of annoying things, right?
These days, he just lets me read. I take breaks. If I had no other obligations in the entire world and no other ambitions, I would probably spend all my time reading.
It’s rather obsessive sometimes.
So, I take breaks between books in order to do the other things like spending time with people I love, writing, cooking, etc.
I have always wanted to know everything. I have never had the patience for suspense and I hate surprises.
I learned earlier this year when I said “I like to know everything” and my boss answered “I know you do” that it applied to more than just books.
This is why, if it’s a good book, I cannot read it in pieces.
“You devour them,” my friend Lois said to me once when I returned a book.
There used to be a woman at work, when I was in my early twenties, who brought me books. She loved to read, but also she loved discussing books, which was her motivation for bringing me good books. It was like a very small book club.
One week she brought me “Dr Zhivago”.
Have you ever read that book? I struggled to get into it, the writing was tiresome and formal, but I kept going because if Donna brought me the book, it must be good.
And it was. Eventually. It’s a big book.
I brought it back, ready for discussion.
“Oh, I haven’t read it,” she said, to my astonishment, “I thought I’d let you read it and tell me if it was worth it.”
(Reader, I’m going to say it’s not)
I always finish a book. Usually really quickly.
What do you think? Is spending the day reading a waste of time?
(Tomorrow, I’m going to set up that damn printer, I swear.)
Hope you’re spending time this weekend doing something you love.