There once was a time when I was constantly reading, each and every spare second of my life. I would devour whole novels, ingest collections of poetry, constantly consuming more and more. Those were my college days, my working days, my first pregnancy/new mommy days. But now it seems my days are always full, full of mothering, housekeeping, working, blogging, crocheting, sleeping... Somewhere along the way, my beloved books got left behind. It's a bit shocking when I think about it. Books have always meant so much to me. They were my daily dose of art, pop-culture, escapism, self-awareness, depth, entertainment, companionship. It has been a bit lonely without them.
I don't recall when I started reading The Swan Thieves (sometime before Christmas?) or Water for Elephants for that matter (last spring or fall maybe?) but I haven't managed to finish either and I'm pretty annoyed with myself in that regard. I've been downright neglectful of my collection. But they are loyal friends, these books of mine. I know they'll be waiting for me when I find the time, right on the shelf, where I left them <3