As far as my own perspective goes, I’ve kind of always been known as an avid reader. When I was younger and a lot more socially inept I took refuge in books. Books were my safe place, and I loved them. I still do, but lately they’ve been taking a backseat, which saddens me. I don’t even really know what the reason is. It’s not that I don’t have a lot of time, I could easily fit some reading time in my schedule, I’m sure, but I find when I have downtime I’d rather do something brainless than intellectual. Maybe this is a sign of my moving away from wanting to be the smartest person in every room (which is healthy, obvs) but it’s also kind of disheartening.
When I do find the time to read though, I will often pick up a book and either read the first chapter and never pick it up again, or devour it like a lion on a gazelle in one or two sittings. I haven’t read more than the first chapter of a book since Maureen Johnson’s The Madness Underneath came out, which I just sat and read in like a day.
I picked up The Great Gatsby today because I want to read it before I see the movie, because I’m one of those. I did that thing though, where I start reading and then get mentally exhausted and I have to stop. I’m determined though. I’ve heard a lot of really great things about this book and I am sure that unlike Gatsby, they will pan out. So I am going to power through my mental fog and hopefully finish within a few weeks anyway.
Maybe this book will be the first step into reading regularly again. I would like that.