Remember when I started this read-every-book-my-college-students-assign-me project over a year ago? Remember how I happily read 30 books? then 50 books? Then 100 books? Then um, more?
Well guess what?
The universe tried to stage an intervention on me this past Tuesday.
Tuesday morning, after talking about this and that and the other, my mom gently (gently) said "Isn't enough enough with those books? Can't you stop?"
I hear in her voice a bit of what she knows is in my core.
I don't do things halfway, which means I sometimes do something intensely until I'm completely sick of it and never want to do it again (ex: crocheting) (ex2: shoe shopping).
Moderation is something I've learned through the grace of God.
But anyway, I tell my Mom NOOOOO (of course! you saw that coming right?) and then start spilling about how much I love love loved the book "The Last Invisible Boy" and then how important this OTHER book was by an author who should be a poet, then I gush about this NEW book I'm reading on 33 strategies of war and how to apply them to life.
Two minutes later I've convinced us both that the reading isn't my problem. (Denial!)
It's the writing that drives me nuts.
I want to write what I want to write when I want to write it, then I feel guilty for not writing up stories about really good books and also funny things, and that guilt to write (which, I would describe as the EXACTLY OPPOSITE of writer's block) makes me cranky.
Our conversation drifts.
Two hours later, in my new (old-new) office, a student shakes her head and says maybe I should stop reading now, maybe I've done enough.
I disagree and then suggest a book for her to read.
An hour later another student admits she and her mom both think I'm "fucking nuts" for reading this much. I thank her for her concern, and soon enough we are in class and I'm looking forward to reading another book before dark.
Well guess what?
The universe tried to stage an intervention on me this past Tuesday.
Tuesday morning, after talking about this and that and the other, my mom gently (gently) said "Isn't enough enough with those books? Can't you stop?"
I hear in her voice a bit of what she knows is in my core.
I don't do things halfway, which means I sometimes do something intensely until I'm completely sick of it and never want to do it again (ex: crocheting) (ex2: shoe shopping).
Moderation is something I've learned through the grace of God.
But anyway, I tell my Mom NOOOOO (of course! you saw that coming right?) and then start spilling about how much I love love loved the book "The Last Invisible Boy" and then how important this OTHER book was by an author who should be a poet, then I gush about this NEW book I'm reading on 33 strategies of war and how to apply them to life.
Two minutes later I've convinced us both that the reading isn't my problem. (Denial!)
It's the writing that drives me nuts.
I want to write what I want to write when I want to write it, then I feel guilty for not writing up stories about really good books and also funny things, and that guilt to write (which, I would describe as the EXACTLY OPPOSITE of writer's block) makes me cranky.
Our conversation drifts.
Two hours later, in my new (old-new) office, a student shakes her head and says maybe I should stop reading now, maybe I've done enough.
I disagree and then suggest a book for her to read.
An hour later another student admits she and her mom both think I'm "fucking nuts" for reading this much. I thank her for her concern, and soon enough we are in class and I'm looking forward to reading another book before dark.
