A funny thing happened this past week while I was sick. You might remember it from last Wednesday's blog post. Because I was sick and miserable, and my sinuses hurt when I laid down and tried to sleep, I spent the week reading. First, I read a full book in one day. Then, I did it again the next day. And the next. And the next. And the next. I've read eight books now in eight days and if I finish tonight's novel, it will be nine for nine.
I've always been a big reader but I have to say, this is something else. I can't remember the last time I've gorged on books like this. Possibly my honeymoon, but even then it was eight books in ten days. I've taken a weird amount of pride in it too. I'm starting to feel like my cold may have triggered a super power. Is that who I am now? The batman of reading? (That would be the most boring comic book of all time). In any case, I've decided it can't be a bad thing. Stephen King wrote in his memoir, ON WRITING, that it's important to read and write, in fact he specifically recommended spending at least six hours a day on the combined activities. No problem, Mr. King. No problem.
Anyway, what you've been thinking this entire post is correct. I am just writing a blog to brag on my awesome reading streak. I don't care. I am. And you know what? Now I'm going to stop writing so I can go finish my book and keep the streak going. Because that's who I am now.