Just
last night a
friend of mine told me about this recent
survey. The
survey revealed that only a small percentage of
Americans are reading
books for pleasure (they did not count the
people who only read the newspaper to catch up on
current events or to check their
stock prices).
And they were mostly
housewives.
This made me ask myself that very same
question:
When was the last time I picked up a book? The answer made me feel stupid, ugly, and naked. I likened myself to an
illiterate person for a moment, since I can't remember the last book I read.
What could have possibly happened to me? Why am I not running to the library on the weekends? I used to get in so much
trouble with my parents, when I was a little girl, since I would sneak a
flashlight under the covers just to read books at night, instead of sleeping.
Where has that childlike curiosity and thirst for knowledge gone?
I have no acceptable
answer for you at this time.
Realistically speaking, I have enough time during the week to down at least one book's worth of
information, but here I am, not reading. Not logging on to
amazon.com to buy
Java in a Nutshell by O'Reilly Publishers. Not going to
Barnes and Noble downtown to purchase a
Kurt Vonnegut book that I haven't yet read. Not going to the
library to check out
Franny and Zooey by
J.D. Salinger so that I can read it for a second time.
To me, reading is like
excercise. The more you get done, the better you feel about yourself and the healthier you become. So I think should start up again, soon.