I don’t know what I want to read anymore. This has taken me quite some time to admit. Books have always been how I identified myself. Alas, limits on my time, school work, life in general, and much more has changed how I decide what to read next.
First, my attention span is much shorter. If I start a book and am not immediately hooked, I drop it. I don’t have time to waste on books I don’t absolutely love. This unfortunately means I don’t give most books a chance.
Second, my tastes have changed. I know what I don’t like. I just don’t know what I do like anymore.
Third, my life is changing all the time. I want to just re-read books I know I used to love so I can feel more settled. This doesn’t always work, though. I feel guilty for reading something already read. Also, some of my formerly beloved books–I just don’t care for anymore but I don’t realize it until I’ve started and then my fond memory of the book is ruined.
This is such a silly thing to fret over. It’s just books.
But really, it isn’t just books. I just don’t know what it is.
I still don’t know what to read next.
Oh, and it’s mid-June and I haven’t even contemplated May or anticipated June. It’ll be over before I know it. This is too fast.