I love reading.
When I was young, my mum used to drag me around the shops in Dundee at the weekend. It felt like we’d be there for hours, standing around in stuffy, busy shops. Bored.
But then I started taking a book along. Soon I’d developed a reputation: you’d always be able to find me sitting in a corner, or on a window sill (or in a shoe department, where seating was readily available), hurriedly turning pages.
None of the books I read back then could necessarily be considered “classics” (I was a VERY big fan of the Star Wars Expanded Universe as a child), but I thought they were great nonetheless. And an excellent way to pass the time.
Which brings me to the crux of my current problem.
I still love reading. But time seems to be much harder to come by now than it was back then.
Unfortunately, there’s no real excuse for this.
I don’t have children that might monopolise my time. I don’t live a terribly active lifestyle — not one that will keep me away from the bookshelf, anyway.
I just . . . seem to always have other things to do.
Instantly gratifying things, like a new TV series to watch. Or a new computer game, or the pub. Although lengthening hangovers will soon put paid to that.
And it’s disappointing. So I’m going to do something about it.
I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions, because usually they’re things I don’t want to do. Those promises are broken pretty early.
But this time is different. Reading more (and more often) is something I want to do, and I know it will come easy.
All I have to do is get started.
Wish me luck!
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