What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without reading a book (since learning how to read, of course)? Which book was it that helped break the dry spell? For Daily Post Assignment, click here.
I’ve been an avid reader since I learned to read the words “Dick and Jane.” After that, I was never without at least one book in progress, sometimes two or three.
I couldn’t help myself. The world inside of a book took me to faraway places, unknown realms that didn’t exist in the real world, history of the world and the way some things were 400 years B.C., made me dream of being Jane Eyre and living in England, being Nancy Drew and helping her solve her mysteries, having Laura Ingalls as a sister and living with her family and listening to Pa play his fiddle.
It just continued from there, throughout a lifetime, until about 15 months ago. For some reason, I quit reading so much, then completely stopped. I couldn’t hold an interest in another world outside of reality for a significant period of time and therefore gave up on that world. Of course, I attributed it to my bad eyesight or bad lighting or whatever other excuse I could come up with. Either way, I just did not have a desire to read a book any longer. When I say book, that’s exactly what I mean. One you hold in your hands, the real thing, made of paper; not a Kindle or a Reader or Nook or whatever else is out there to read a “book” on. Definitely not the same thing for me and not a route I would choose to take.
I’m not for sure the exact reason I stopped reading but I know it wasn’t a good enough one. I have books on the shelf waiting to be read. I have everything on the shelf, from Nora Roberts to anything that might contribute to conspiracy theories. Yes, I like variety in my book diet but I wasn’t eating any of that.
About two months ago, I heard through the grapevine about The Snowflake Effect, a book that sounded pretty interesting. So I ordered it but didn’t start reading it. At this point, I was getting a little worried at my lack of interest in reading being it was something I had done every, single day of my reading lifetime. Something had to change and I had to figure out how.
One day I just sat down. No music, no noise, nothing, except the sounds of nature as they blew in through the open windows of Gypsy. Grabbed the book and started reading. And read and read and read. Almost a third of the way through the book until I really couldn’t read anymore.
That was a couple of months ago. It appears I haven’t read a book in about 13 months. That has never happened to me before and I hope it never happens again.
Not for sure about this but I think I had so much reality to deal with and contemplate that I couldn’t afford to get caught up in my fantasy world of books. That sounds sad but I’ll bet I won’t let it happen again.