Reading After a Drought

I wrote this post in 2018.

“Water, water every where, nor any drop to drink.” 

Reading has always been a passion of mine. It is so easy to pick up a book and let your mind wander away to some distant world, leaving everything behind.

I can’t lie, though: I graduated college and my reading habit came to a halt. I didn’t want to read. I didn’t want to think about books or poems or authors. I didn’t want to think about why Mrs. Dalloway bought the flowers herself. I also didn’t care about Aristotle’s opinion of government, or why Hamlet was so moody. After studying English for four years I was so relieved to come home and not read.

I watched a lot of horror movies. Yes, Little Dead Rotting Hood is just as terrible as you’re probably imagining, Psycho is always an excellent choice, and I wish I knew why Hannibal Lecter liked to eat people. I also watched a lot of television shows. Blackish is hilarious, and I absolutely do not recommend Sister Wives. My favorite is The Golden Girls and I will laugh at Dorothy’s sarcasm till the day I die.

While I was searching through my laptop yesterday, I found all my old essays from college and immediately felt melancholy. For the first time in months I craved reading. So, I decided to start again.

I read most of the books on my shelves so I travelled into the next room and searched my father’s bookcase. I picked up Nausea by Jean-Peal Sartre. Honestly, this was probably not a wise book choice to begin reading again. However, it was Nausea or James Joyce’s Ulysses.

Should I feel bad for letting my reading passion slip away? I don’t know. In the same way, I wouldn’t want to eat chocolate following a weekend stay at Hershey Park. I think my exhaustion was a normal reaction. The important thing, I think, is to not let it slip far enough away where it it impossible to recover.