You know that moment when you want to read so many books that you end up reading none? I can’t recall the day when my interest in reading Moby Dick awoke but to this day I haven’t gotten around to reading it yet, or Everyday (book which I also bought for my friend), or Gone With The Wind.
There are also books I am dying to reread, such as Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, or even Ignite Me.
During the year I thought I would have all the time in the world when Summer came but now my agenda is busier than ever. My courses, my therapy (that is more of a friendly meeting at this point but either way), my job.
There is always this little signal in my brain that is suspicious of the book I touch wondering whether to read or not. Don’t do it AM because maybe it won’t live up to the expectations and you’ll be bored. Don’t do it because maybe it is not the right time to read it, because maybe you will miss its sparkle now, because, because, because…
This is going on for a while and the thing is that every book I have started has been very beautiful and totally lived up to my expectations. So why do I keep having this nasty feeling?