I love to read. I really do.
I also read a lot.
I haven't been able to read what I want lately as I've been too busy reading the books for the University courses I just finished.
In the last four months, I've read Middlemarch, The Mill on the Floss, Adam Bede, Cranford, Mary Barton, Shirley, and just about everything written by the Bronte sisters.
If you asked my family they would probably tell you that I've done nothing BUT read over the past few months. And um, if you were to take a quick look at Mt. Laundry you might just believe their claim.
But for the next few weeks, before I get my reading lists for my fall courses, I can read what I want. And that my friends is totally different.
Today I can go to the bookstore and pick out any piece of fluffy silly literature that I desire. I can read romances or mysteries or magazines or just poorly written, badly edited trashy books. I can pick ANYTHING.
You know what? I am very happy about this – pathetically so.