Monthly Archives: December 2012

Confessions

Every once in a while I feel the need to spill my guts.  I hate having secrets.  I truly do. So, when I first started hunkering down for Hurricane Sandy, I started writing down my five biggest reading and writing confessions to share with the interwebs.  Of course, then my power went out like five hours before the storm hit and stayed out for a week and a half, so I was a nomad, traveling with my dog first to my aunt and uncles house, then to my mom and dad’s, in search of heat, hot water, and cooked food (EVERYTHING in my apartment is electric, damnit!).  But we came through unscathed, thank the light, and many many people around me can’t say any such thing, so I’m thrilled.  With no further ado, since I’m terrible at ado’s, here are my five biggest reading confessions.

1) I beat the shit out of my books.

Seriously, if you saw the state of my books, you’d think I had something against the written word.  I always dogear my pages, because I’m too irresponsible to have bookmarks on me – EVER.  I’m always underlining and notetaking in them, too, especially when I’ve been drinking (which is usually).  And quite a few of them are missing covers or falling out of their spines, either from purse mishaps (like the time I took one to  a Yankees game and it rained) or I’ve simply read it so many times.  What can I say, I’m like a kid with toys.  The more beat up it is, the more I loved it.

2) I’d rather reread series than attack my To Be Read Pile.

As much as I’d like to blame my financial situation, I already own most of the books I want to read (and most of the rest are available free on my Kindle).   Between the two, it should be enough to keep me busy for, oh, forever.  But I’d rather relax into a world I already know, so I have trouble diving into anything new.  I’ve already discussed this, so I won’t go into too much detail here, but it gives me a lot of guilty anxiety, so it bears repeating.  Although, go me!  Just downloaded and started Anna Karenina!

3) My books are a mess.

Intentionally, that is.  As much as I love organization and neatness in other areas of my life, a perfectly organized bookshelf makes me suspicious faster than a straight man seriously discussing RuPaul’s Drag Race with me (Raja fo life!).  How do you keep your books so neat if you’re constantly cycling them out to read/reference/reread favorite passages?  Hmmm?  Anyway, to save what’s left of my sanity, I prefer my books to be all mixed up without regard for color or size or genre or author.  Does it make it harder for me to find what I’m looking for at any given moment?   YES.  That, my dear, is the point.  I enjoy being “forced” to scan my entire collection – or close to it – every time I’m looking for a particular book.  It makes me happy. Plus I just think a messier bookshelf looks friendlier than a super organized one.

4) I read all four Twilight books.

Some of you might think this isn’t something that requires a confession, as you yourselves read them and liked them.  To you, I suggest you jump ahead to #5.  I fucking hated them.  They were terrible.  Stephanie Meyer is an average author at best, and Bella Swan made the feminist in me scream and tear my hear in frustration.  I only read the books so I can speak with authority on how terrible they are, and now I feel dirty all the time for having given them my time.  That is all.  We can move on now.

5) I kind of love that BB doesn’t read.

That’s right.  My boyfriend – the love of my life – does not read.  He can, obviously – he’s not Mowgli  for chrissakes – and he skims fight & gaming magazines fairly regularly, and even reads fighter’s biographies every now and again.  But the life-consuming, obsessive, multi-series-at-a-time, rereading that is my favorite hobby and would take over my life if I would let it?  No thank you, he’ll  play a video game or watch some YouTube thankyouverymuch.  And I’m OK with that.  Sure, sometimes I wish he would read the series I do just so when I’m feeling particularly obsessive (I swear I have addictive personality and books are my drug) I have someone to talk to, but honestly and truly?  I think I would get aggravated and bored if we were both into the same things.  And the last time I had a boyfriend who read as much as me he made me feel really, really stupid all the time (not on purpose – he’s a great guy and we’re still friendly!  But, you know, truth).  So I smile and nod as though I agree when my other bookish friends chat about how a boy who doesn’t read is a total dealbreaker, but in reality, it works for me.

So there you have it.  My five biggest reading confessions.  I hope you had fun commiseration with me if you saw yourself in any of them, or judging me if you don’t.  Feel free to put your own confessions in the comments – it feels good to get them all out!  And check out my writing confessions too, to get a fuller picture of  my terribleness.  ❤

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