Another thing about me: I’m a reader. Woo doggie, am I a reader.
Except for this year, that is. You’ve heard my complaint before—the erratic schedule makes the fun activities I like to do a little difficult. But another additional hindrance to the whole I’m-reading-a-new-book-every-week thing is this: my commute, either active or passive, makes it impossible to read. One, I rarely get a seat on the bus. Two, I can’t read while I drive or run or bike, obviously. And three, my commute by motor vehicles is a whopping 15 minutes long.
It makes me miss my commute to Arlington, which I did for five years. Do you know how many books I read in that time, those two hours each day where I dealt with Metro’s impossibility? So many books. So, so many lovely, lovely books. When I commuted downtown, I read less since my commute was cut in half, but still: I had time to tune out and read before the day started.
It almost makes me miss Metro.
(Gah, I cannot believe I effin’ said that. Please don’t kill me, Unsuck DC Metro.)
My Goodreads account was once legendary. I added to my books-read list at a frenzied pace, reading books old and new. And on my old blog, I reviewed books galore and had lots of fun doing it. (Yeah, I plan on doing that here. I actually have the chance to review books under my own name, but that’s lost its shine. I now save those reviews for books I really, really care about.) My husband would grow frustrated with me, thinking I was reading to meet a numbers goal. The cheek! I would never do that. I read to learn. And I love to learn, so I devour anything that comes my way. Or I used to, at least.
My book count this year stands at 29. Ugh. But what’s worse is this: I feel like I really haven’t engaged with any of them. Ask me what I read in years past, and I can go into detail about my favorite and least-favorite books of any particular year. Ask me this year and I stare back at you blankly. Best book so far this year? Worst book so far this year? Um …
(Okay, I lie. Best book so far is Karen “MacArthur Fellow” Russell’s Vampires in the Lemon Grove. I love me some quirky, well-written short stories. And I didn’t even like her Pulitzer Prize-finalist Swamplandia!.)
(Oh, and for those who counted 28 book covers in that image above, here’s the thing—my Goodreads account is public under my real name, and there is no way in hell I’m disclosing that I read The Impatient Woman’s Guide to Getting Pregnant and clue people into my plans to conquer the world, one baby at a time. In fact, that book has already made its way out of my home and into the home of my former coworker, who is also trying to get pregnant at the ripe old age of 36. Partly because I didn’t need it anymore, partly because being impatient did nothing for me.)
Anyhow, with a hopefully longer commute in my near future (it will happen, damn it), I’m guessing my reading will go up soon. But I guess this post is a warning to all who find me charming to read: get ready for my book reviews, which could infuriate you if you’re a big reader. I have a lot of fun with them. I love to analyze and criticize. I can get snarky with a bad book. I can be a huge English-major nerd with the ones I consider to the be the best. I’m highly critical of some of the trends in publishing today, and there are some authors I just can’t stand (and will snark on when I get the chance). Above all, though, I love discussing books with anyone willing to engage.
Just try not to recommend too many books. You should see our bookshelves; unread, recently ordered books have actually migrated to the floor. My husband and I have a problem.