Last week I started exploring diabetes with owls, alongside my pal, David, and I didn't want to stop. It's an addicting hobby, as I knew it would be. But I also knew it would be a fleeting one, as I tend to rush things. Maybe it's because I walk too fast, talk too fast, read too fast, I don't know, but I knew the exploration wouldn't last. I have a short attention span, but I also get finished far too quickly with things, that later, I wish I had instead savored.
And that is what has happened. I should have savored the diabetes, and the owls, and David. And I didn't. I never do. I tried though. I really tried. This time, I swear to it. I tried. I stopped altogether on Sunday and wouldn't allow myself to finish the task until today, because that's how much I didn't want it to end. I've been down this road so many times. And as much as I enjoy the ride, I'm always left absolutely despondent afterwards because it is, unfortunately, over.
Let me take a moment for some honesty. I don't read as often as I should, nor as often as I would like. And when I do read, I go through books within hours. While riding in a car on vacation, I go through at least three books, and usually, that's only because that's all I was allowed to bring with me. Or I talked myself out of bringing seven more. Which I probably would've read. Thank goodness for tablets, right? The portability of it all? But they'll never replace a book. I'll never allow them to. What would my lungs do without all of those dusty pages?
Yes, I've been referring to a book all this time. If you were confused, well, you should be. Over a week ago, I dropped some items off at the library, checked out a few more and as I was leaving, I noticed a book I've been meaning to read for a while now, a book even Amazon keeps telling me I would like. Amazon knows me so well. And there it was staring at me, beckoning me not to leave it there. I swear, it was saying, take me with you. And so I backtracked, apologized to the librarian for no reason whatsoever, and brought it home. And then it was like an awkward first date. With someone you're actually interested in. Do I make a move? I waited, but alas, that book only continued to stare at me. Until finally, I did the one thing I haven't done in a long time, I started reading.
I read online all the time. Too much actually. Darn Wikipedia. Darn Huffington Post. Darn stupid random blogs. And don't even get me started with WebMD. Did I mention Wikipedia...? But when it comes to books, sitting down and investing that sort of time into them, into myself, is something I just can't do very often. If I'm confined to a seat, like in a car or on a plane, sure. Seven hours on a plane? Two books read. At least. Back when I didn't talk to anyone at my former place of employment, I'd read during breaks. The quiet girl sitting on the floor in the corner, when there were perfectly good chairs. But that required sitting next to people. Then I met people, and well, reading time was kicked to the curb.
But I've never been that stay at home mom who could sit on the couch and read hours a day. I know a lot of them that can. I also know many who also sit and watch television. That's not really my style. I have to be doing something. Something productive. Mostly though, something not for me. As reading is all about me. It is for me. And I know I won't just put that book down at any second. It's heroin. Those pages aren't going anywhere without me. Do you hear me, pages? You're not going anywhere. A-N-Y-W-H-E-R-E. Got me?
The longest I ever allowed myself to spend on a Harry Potter book was maybe three days. The last three books? No more than twelve hours each book. I even read books I don't like quickly. It doesn't mean I'm thrilled I wasted my sweet, precious time on them, but I finish them anyway. Because I have to know how it all ends, and why I wasted all that time. I rarely have a resolution on the latter. But I attempted to savor the owls, the diabetes, and put it down for three days. With only twenty pages left.
What it comes down to though is that as much as I already miss reading Sedaris' latest work, the library is currently accruing more of his books for me, because while I'm almost ashamed of spending part of my day reading, who bloody cares? I mean, it's no one's business what I'm doing. Whether I read, or don't read. If I want to reread books from a humorist during my free time, I can. The only person stopping me is me. And while I have residual guilt reading, it's not like that time is a waste. It's certainly better than all the junk on the blog sites I would read. The time spent on Wikipedia reading about random television series I would never, ever, watch, yet I wanted to know everything that happened so when it comes up in pop culture, I can follow along. Time I can never get back.
I still don't think people who read for hours every day (or watch television for hours) can point fingers at me and tell me I get things done only because I have more time than they do. However, maybe it's not such a terrible thing to allow myself more reading pleasure. Because I had a fantastic time with David again. It'd been quite a long while. Too long, actually. And we have even more catching up to do. And even if I go through it all quickly, that just means I have to allow myself to move on, find another, and savor the time spent on myself, no matter how quickly it flashes by.
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