With precious time being syphoned off in various directions during my day, it's a wonder that I have found time to sit down and attempt something new. Well, I guess reading is something that's not really new, but I'm not an expert. I was never a real bookworm growing up, thus reading was not my forte. In fact, I downright despised it. However, I'm not sure exactly what it was that turned me off to reading. It could have been the fact that I was forced by my stern 4 th grade teacher Ms. Cook to cram down twenty pages a night of Maniac Magee, quite possibly the worst book ever to try to force down a bunch of 4 th graders throats (kid runs away from home and achieves mythic popularity and success in a neighboring town under the pretense of many lies...awesome message to send to children who loath school), or perhaps it was the fact that throughout grade school you were constantly judged by your teachers on the number of pages you were able to turn in one summer. Come to think of it, until I was in about first grade I literally preferred to eat books from art class in papier- mache as opposed to actually reading them. I guess I was at a disadvantage from early on. Still though, recently I have found the time to force myself back into the reading habit which I never really developed in the first place (is that possible?). I've decided that in order to expand my vocabulary and grasp of the English Language, I'm going to start reading again. Right about now I'm picturing that stupid little butterfly from the Reading Rainbow television program doing a happy dance because their prodigal son has returned. Those of you who are also children of the 80's I'm sure can relate.  The real reason I hated reading: Fear. Fear my teacher would dress up like this. Thus, I'm happy to report that these last two weeks have been somewhat of a success. In addition to getting some reading done for school, I also managed to squeeze in the rest of the book which I began almost a year ago. A year for 1 book...not to shabby. Remember, baby steps. Moby Dick is a long way off. I started it when I was in Seattle, and it got me through many bus rides. Now, almost a year later, its over. Has my vocabulary improved? doubtful. Has my brain been filled with fleeting trivial knowledge: most likely. But perhaps most importantly I have a weapon to use in conversation. Many of the people I find myself conversing with often intimidate me with their wealth of knowledge and the library that they have amassed in their heads. I often sat and wondered quietly to myself why those people had too much free time. "Oh, I read the most interesting book recently...", "If you're looking for a good read...". Now, I have my own quip that I can throw down upon the pseudo-intellectual gauntlet that is casual conversation with my co-workers. "I found that book to be horribly pretentious..." (as I sip a double shot venti caramel frappachino with no whipped cream at the local Starbucks).
I guess the whole thing finally came full circle in a way. I wasn't reading for pleasure, and I found it pleasurable. When I tried reading for pleasure, I hated it. Thus, now I'm not reading for pleasure, I'm reading for survival in everyday conversation, and I find that more pleasurable that both reading for pleasure or reading not for pleasure...fuck, I'm confused. |
Yay reading! I think I read a lot because my mom read to me a lot when I was very little. Or who knows. But: I'm 23, and still get a huge kick out of comic books. Those are always fun ;)