I have a lot of books. Some would say too many. There are times when I wonder if I'll ever read them all. Or, quite frankly, if I should.
Is envying the bedridden a bad sign?
Does longing for a minor ailment portend ominous intentions?
Is it bad to wile away a lazy afternoon in the company of dog eared pages instead of performing chores or talking to humans?
After having to read 1600 pages a week in college, I've found that my tolerance for the verbose and the obtuse is waning. I am less forgiving. It used to be unthinkable not to finish a book. Now, if I find my attention wandering too often, it's off to another story or adventure.
I prefer modern over classic.
Short story collections over novels.
Adventure over enlightenment.
I tried to read Honey for the Bears by Anthony Burgess (of Clockwork Orange fame), but didn't care for the characters and lost interest. Amazing vocabulary though.
I'm currently reading The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem. He's a phenomenal writer, but the story is a bit plodding and, well, it better pick up soon.
Also picked up David Sedaris's new collection of stories, Let's Discuss Diabetes with Owls, and, if you like his stuff, liked the first two stories. So there's that.
Oh yeah, also did the first two Insanity workouts. That has nothing to do with reading. Not directly. I just thought I'd share how I try to offset my sedentary tendencies.