An Almost Perfect Day of Reading

I fucked up today.

I had a whole lucious afternoon to myself to read. I moved between the gray suede spinning chair and the couch, first lying on top of and then under a red and white cotton blanket. Socks on. Coffee. Coffee. Tea. Tea. Socks off. Bottled water. A quick lunch break and then back to reading.

It was good.

The rain fell outside the window, straight down at first and then sideways and then in big heavy drops that looked almost like snow.

I was reading a memoir*, one that takes place in a world foreign to me -- pregnancy and miscarriage, divorce and deception -- and I got lost in the story, right up to the end. I finished the last pages and sighed, and then I spent a few minutes reflecting on the book. I rated it on Goodreads, marked it as read on my Reading Challenge, and then I realized the fuck up. It was 3pm on Sunday afternoon and I had nothing else to read. I was holding a kindle with more than a thousand books on it, at least a dozen of which I hadn't yet read, and was surrounded on three walls with books from floor to ceiling, but I hadn't taken that crucial step of lining up a book to get to next. I was still too absorbed in the story I'd just finished to shop for a new book. It was too late to really do anything else with the day and too early to wrap it up and start on dinner. Rookie mistake. 


* The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy