Winter was made for reading. But not this one. At least not for me.
See, I'm trapped in the throes of a reading malaise.
Nothing's grabbing me. Not old favorites. Not the glossy new covers of books designed to seduce readers like me. I even scan and pan magazine articles, newspapers, blog posts, my attention dwindling to a thin thread that soon snaps inches below the byline.
It's not them--it's me.
I have a plan for times like these. It's never failed before. To B&N I go, membership card in hand, and dig for treasure on the shelves. Quirky non fiction. Unread classics. New-to-me authors. Any cover flap that promises something new and distinctly other.
But not this time. The malaise has got me good.
I know why: because I'm waiting on something wonderful. So I know the damp edges of this listlessness will dissipate shortly. And there's a pile of amazing books waiting on me when it does.
Books are perpetually patient. They'll wait forever to be read. But I'll be coming for them...soon.
