February 8, 2011

Someone Save Me (From Myself)

Life gets tough sometimes. So much so that we want to disappear.

Some people disappear with naughty things like booze and random dalliances with muscly strangers. Me? I read. I've always thought this was a fantastically wholesome habit. What's better for a hurting spirit than a good 'ole dip in the literary pond? But then I started reading when I should have been doing other things. Like applying for jobs. And working on my writing. And eating proper meals off plates.

I read to get away from the stuff I don't want to deal with. Sometimes that means I'm spending over half a day reading instead of being a productive member of society. And I find myself wondering: is there a point when a book addiction becomes bad for you? Has that point been reached when you try to read and do dishes at the same time? Or when you actually contemplate skipping a shower because hygiene takes up valuable reading time?

My name is Kate Armstrong, and I'm a readaholic.