For the last several months, I have disappeared. We’ve gotten most of our schoolwork done, but everything else from cooking to cleaning and sometimes answering the phone, has dropped off my radar.
I’ve been reading. I’m an odd bird when it comes to reading. Although I’d never say so in front of my children, I don’t like to read. I’m a literature major, for heaven’s sake! But I like writing more than reading, and I have found that books too often disappoint me. The writing is weak, or the climax is less than I’d imagined. No matter what, a book requires tedious hours of sitting still and waiting. I don’t wait well. I peek at the last pages, I shake the boxes under the Christmas tree when everyone’s sleeping, and—don’t tell—sometimes I read the Spark Notes or watch the movie. The disappointment of a bad book is so easily replaced with the thrill of getting away with not reading it.