Wednesday, 12 September 2012
Reading is a great pleasure to me. I do it almost every night before I go to sleep even if I only read a couple of pages before I feel my eyes closing. However, today it is slightly stressing me out. Not in a bad way but in a 'feel like I am not doing what i ought to do' way.
I borrowed this book from the library last Tuesday but haven't opened it. The blurb is encouraging. It sounds funny, not too much of a page turner (they make me stay up too late), not too much suspense (I hate suspense), not distressing (or as the publishers say: poignant). Perfect. But I haven't opened it.
This book arrived in the post about three weeks ago and is the next book for my newly formed book group but I haven't opened it. This is only our second book, I chose it based on a Radio 4 review and it sounds funny and interesting. The book group is meeting on 27th (15 days from now). But I haven't opened it.
This book arrived this morning but I haven't opened it. It is one of the few books we could find about our new temporary home and I am hoping it will encourage us that we have chose to decamp to an interesting place, not scare the hell out of us and make us wonder what on earth we have done before we have even begun. But I haven't opened it.
The reason I have not opened any of these perfectly attractive books? - I am rereading this book for about the millionth time, very slowly. I could put it down and pick up one of the others but I haven't. It's not like I need to know the ending - I could practically write it. It is just that it is the literary equivalent of macaroni cheese, Mama Mia and John's big jumper and with all the unknowns out there at the moment I am really enjoying it. Even the bits I don't really like.
Oh, and I hate having more than one book on the go at a time. Too much pressure!