To the empowerage of words

I am legitimately worried about my brain. I am pretty sure I am caught in a downward spiral of dumbening (wait, is that how you spell ‘dumbening’….waaait, dumbening isn’t even a word!—Sorry, had to have that Simpsons moment there).

Nowhere is this more evident than in my lack of ability to read, and as a former Literature major, I find this to be an embarrassing problem. It’s probably like a math major not being able to do long division anymore. We’re talking about the basics here.

I have always had a strange relationship with books. Reading is obviously for cool people, and since I’m the coolest, I used to read a lot. I even majored in reading—that’s how cool it is. The problem, however, is that I am never able to remember what I read. Sure, I KNOW I read An Unbearable Lightness of Being, but I couldn’t tell you about it. I’m pretty sure there’s a dude who’s, like, in love with two women? I remember reading it and loving it; I remember it spoke to me at the time. I could tell you it’s a great book, but that’s it.

So when people comment that I’m probably well-read, I get uncomfortable because I can’t remember anything. It’s like Memento, but literary.

But even so, I knew that I was, in fact, well-read. Sure, I would go through long dry spells where all I would touch was a Cosmo (shut up, if you’re going to buy a magazine, it might as well be trash), but it all balanced out. At least once a year, I would go through a couple month-long periods where I would just TEAR through books. But it’s been over a year now, and I’m worried.

Currently, I get very excited at the idea of possessing lots of books in anticipation for that period. I stack them all neatly next to my bed hoping against hope that I will be able to conquer this literary mountain one at a time.

But nothing’s leaving the stack! I start something and can’t finish it!

Why can’t I finish a book, guys? What is happening to me? I used to be able to finish even the crappy boring ones in a reasonable amount of time. I read Cold Mountain, for godsakes! And that book is basically one long, boring description of snow. Now it takes me months to read something that’s 300 pages. I couldn’t even finish Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance because it made me feel stupid, and my adult-onset ADD couldn’t figure out what it was about. WHAT THE HELL.

So fuck you, book-that’s-sitting-on-my-desk, for making me feel all inadequate. All I want to do is read you! I do! But during my lunch period, I could go to the bank or get gas or take a nap in my car. And at night I could be watching TV or sleeping. Where do you fit into my plans? Your words make me sleepy now. I hate you. But I also love you. BE GOOD TO ME!

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