I’ve finally read The Martian. I know. Fourteen years late on that one, but I wasn’t reading much fourteen years ago. I went through decade-plus…probably fifteen years, during my late 20s and almost all of my 30s where I wasn’t hardly reading anything at all. It was school. I got burned out. SO MUCH reading in college. And memorizing, too, because I was in theater school. Liz picked it up again when we graduated, but I did not. I wish I had. I was an avid reader before that. Constantly reading. I remember, in fact, my mom telling me one camping trip that I wasn’t allowed to read anymore because I wasn’t interacting with anyone and this was a vacation and we were supposed to spend it together. Pretty sure I rolled my eyes all the way into the back of my head and kept on reading anyway. But, yeah. Pretty sure, too, that my near-sightedness is because I read so much as a kid and teenager.
Well, I’m reading again. Not as avidly as Liz does, but I manage. The Martian was book 24 on the year, which was my goal. I’ll probably finish another one or two before the year is done. We’ll see. And next year…I might aim for even more. We’ll see. Liz literally reads like 200 books a year. So I’m way way off her pace. But that’s okay. As busy as I am, reading as much as I do is impressive enough for me. And I love it. That’s the main thing. It’s not the number. It’s loving it. Just like this “blog.”
I rested today. Finally feeling a little more normal. Whew.
Night night.