Like so many things that have changed over the years, my love of reading and turning to it in times of stress has undergone a major transition.  For so many years, reading was a daily passion; it was the past time I fit into every day, and I felt incomplete if I didn't read at some point in every day.  My love of reading led me to choosing English as my major in college, and I spent several years focusing on reading Victorian novels.  No matter how much I had on my plate during my studies, I was always reading another novel of some kind at the same time as all of my school books.  Reading has seen me through some tough times in my life; hiding in a bookstore or library, choosing my next read, finding time to forget my woes and lose myself between the pages were all I needed to relax, unwind, and find some peace.

At some point over the last two or three years, reading has stopped working in this way for me.  I'm not sure if it's a different level of stress or different kinds of stressful events, but now I can't shut it out and get into the book.  The bad stuff just keeps rearing its ugly head.




I haven't finished a book in over a month.  I'm staring at quite a nice to-be-read pile, but I haven't cracked a cover.  You can tell by the books, that I have eclectic taste, but I stick to some clearly defined genres.  I love mysteries or crime fiction, or whatever you want to call it, but I don't care for true crime. I do like non-fiction specifically about fashion and the history of fashion, any thing associated to motivation, and organization.  I also try to always have one classic that I read bits and pieces of since I find that I rushed through so many of them getting them read for assignments that I didn't have the chance to just enjoy them.





Writing this has helped me focus on just how good the books in my stack look.  Since it's my birthday, I'm looking forward to sitting back maybe with a beverage or two, and getting lost in a good book.