Time Enough At Last

Today I found a new blog that I've decided I'm in love with. Weird thing to say, I know, but I love the idea, the writing, and I can see myself checking in every day. It's A Book A Day, and this woman is literally reading a book every day. Apparently, she has oodles and gobs of free time (can I borrow just a little?) and inspired by another book, So Many Books, So Little Time in which the author decides to read a book a week and write about how the book intersected (or not) with her actual life, a new blogger was born with a more lofty goal of a book a DAY!?

And here I am trying to read a measly 26 books this year!

It reminds me of that old Twilight Zone episode where the bank teller hides a book at his window and reads between patrons. Then while he sneak into the vault on his lunch break to read, the world suffers an apocalyptic event and he is the lone survivor who eventually finds the public library. In his delight, he sorts the books into piles he will read each month... I won't continue to the ironic ending... I just relate with his pure joy to finally be able to just read!!

Anyway, the real reason I actually decided to write this post is not to reminisce about my favorite Twilight Zone. It is instead because that blog I somehow stumbled upon got me thinking about how I truly do love books. And not because I'm trying to complete a challenge, or because I want to be snooty and able to say I've read the really important works. But the nitty gritty of my obsession. How I used to steal my dad's books that he said I couldn't read. Things like Amityville Horror or The Exorcist, and read them under the covers at night. And then as I got older, I remember my dad would pass me Stephen King books to read after he finished them. Oh, and other books like Flowers in the Attic and, then, the first time I read East of Eden.

Now that I'm older, I can't even tell you the last time I read a horror novel. The last one I can remember was It, which literally scared the crap out of me. But I have reread East of Eden at least twice, and then discovered so many amazing, beautiful books.

Which also makes me think of another book my dad handed to me to read which I never ever did. Hawaii by James A. Michener. I remember him saying I should read it, but I took one look at the 5-inch thick monster, and was, like, no way. But I'm going to add it immediately to my To-Be Read pile (well, as soon as I get a hold of a copy of it.)

Like most of my blog posts of late, I realize this is a bit choppy and random. I don't have time to edit, reword, and make it fluid. I'm lucky my family is leaving me to my thoughts at all! I just wanted to make a note because I felt inspired by an obvious kindred spirit whom I'm greatly envious of because she somehow has time to both read anything she wants to each day, and the energy and clarity of mind to discuss each and every one.

I'm doing what I can for now. I always have a book nearby, or at least an audiobook loaded and ready to go on my ipod for when Craig insists I turn out the lights and stop reading. I look forward to more stories, more experiences I can have vicariously, and to following the similar journeys of those I meet in the blogiverse...