Saturday, March 1, 2008

It finally happened. While my sister has just finished her ninth book, I just finished reading my first book this year, which was half-cheating because I read quite a bit of it last year. Which of course leads to my confession: I am terrible about finishing books. I have at least ten books that I started reading last year that remain unfinished reads. And because I am who I am, I have excuses:

1) Yarn-related activities.
2) Work.
3) Travel.
4) Movies.
5) Baking.

However, I am professing it now. I plan on reading a Jane Austen novel a year. I'd say all of them, but it turns out that crocheting takes up so much of my time that I rarely get to set my eyes on other things while working on a crocheted object (and on the off-chance that I'm knitting, I never do anything else).

And now, to buy more Smooshy. It's dead gorgeous.

3 comments:

The Mad Crocheter said...

I don't read anywhere near as much as I did the first two decades of my life. I don't feel bad about it -- sheepish and a little confused about what happened to that side of me -- but the same thing happened to a good friend of mine who knits constantly. We think it's grad-school burnout. Actually I still read tons, but mostly on the Internet and not in novel form.

The Mad Crocheter said...

...And the part I forgot to mention was I do feel a little twinge that I don't try to read more, I mostly figure life is too short to worry about what I "should" be doing in my leisure time. Hope that makes sense.

Christy said...

Have you thought about audiobooks?