It's finally happened. I've thrown up the white flag. Given up. I can't fight this feeling anymore.
Gone are the days when I could come home, say hello to the beautiful wife, eat my dinner, then scurry up to the reading room and settle into a book. That's over now. I have more pressing things on my daily agenda, namely a little baby who smiles when she first sees me most afternoons, a smile that makes me immediately forget that the stack of books keeps growing.
Not saying for a second that this is the end of a long reading career. Just a hiatus. One of these ... Just a few more weeks or months of not feeling like I need to read, of feeling that I'm being an irresponsible reader, that I'm missing out on something. Miss it already, that's for sure. I'm reminded every day, every time I walk by the TBR pile. Reminded every time a new book arrives in the mail or a new review goes up on a favorite blog. But being reminded from now on will not come with the guilt that has often accompanied it. After all, those books aren't going anywhere. They will be there unchanged, each word intact, just as I left them when I abandoned them for what to me right now are better things. Unlike those books, Marlie is changing seemingly with every passing minute, her blank pages filling with the simplest of type, unseen footnotes waiting to be referenced, chapters becoming outlined. I plan to be a major character in this novel. I aim to cherish as much of these brainstorming days as I possibly can.
So how is it that I still don't have time to read or don't take the time to read once I've spent time with Marlie? Call it a lack of attention span. Call it a lack of desire to invest time or energy in a book. Whatever you want to call it, I'm just not interested right now. How long will it last? Who knows. Might not last out the weekend.
In fact, I doubt it will.