It's amazing how two weeks ago I was in full reading mode and enjoying every single page as I went. Then last week came along and reading became obsolete compared to everything that had to get done in order for the big moving day on Friday. It was one thing after another that needed to be done, whether it was going to the Post Office for change of address forms, packing and cleaning, or dealing with the internet guy who seemed like he didn't want to be doing anything or the plumber. I was on my feet the entire week and I just didn't have a chance to breathe let alone pick up a book and read for twenty minutes; at bed time there was no possible moment for me to attempt reading because once my head hit the pillow I was out like a light.
Tonight though, I found one of two of my library books in one of the boxes that I have yet to unpack yet and sat down and finished it. Though I didn't really care for the book that I was reading it was a great feeling to be reading nonetheless. I got so captured in the writing to the point where I forgot I was sitting on the couch reading while my dad watched Nitro Circus a bit too loudly on MTV, it was like I was there with the characters in the book. For the hour or so that it took me to finish that book, I was content and calm, I wasn't worrying about anything but just reading. It felt amazing.
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