Social Media is ruining my life.
Okay, well it isn’t ruining my life, but it is distracting me from doing other things I like to do, or should be doing- like reading. If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you’d know that reading is one of my oldest hobbies. Ever since I learned how to read I’ve always had my nose in a book, magazine, newspaper, brochure, billboard…whatever I could get my hands on or saw other people reading. Nothing else mattered when I had a book in my hands; I literally could not hear you. My mother used to joke that I wouldn’t notice the house burning down around me because I had to finish that last chapter.
Unfortunately, I got older and had less time to read for pleasure. It started in high school when I actually had to start interpreting things and trying to “figure out the significance” of some minute detail in a chapter that I normally would have completely bypassed if it weren’t for the questions we had to answer for the homework. It totally ruined it for me (I was still a straight A student, but I hated the homework. My motto was “just let me enjoy the story”).
After I graduated I went to boot camp 3 weeks later. The only thing I read there was the SMART book they gave us- a guide on the basics of “How to be a Solider”. I’m not going to lie: I was lazy as hell my first 2 years of college. I didn’t want to do ANYTHING. After some time I felt guilty and joined a mail order book club and would read in between semesters. Now, I’m a working woman and I have to force myself to make time to read, but I don’t think I have the attention span to do it anymore. I use the GoodReads app to keep track of my progress, but it doesn’t help if you don’t use it. I have more than enough books on my iPad and my Kindle to keep me occupied for months, but I just don’t read them – and in some cases, finish them. The younger version of myself is so disappointed.
I need to get it together. I always look at my book shelf at all the half-read books I have up there and they are just mocking me. They are looking at me with disappointment too. The bums.
I’ve started reading On Writing by Stephen King. I’ve only read one other Stephen King book in my life, about an old man who had insomnia. Don’t ask me what the book was about because it took so long to get to the point that I put it down and never picked it up again. I told myself that I would finish this one and I mean it. I will have to make the time. I feel like once I finish this book it will give me some sense of accomplishment so that I will be more motivated to finish the next one. Or, at least that’s what I’m counting on.