Confessions of an Illiterate

As a result of medication, depression, ennui, or all-of-the-above, I haven’t read a book in about eight years. I read the Harry Potter books, Twilight, ten pages of Fifty Shades of Grey, and The Road. Other than that, I have not read a fucking thing.

I didn’t decide to stop reading books. I loved reading. Even when I work full-time, I read at least two or three books a week. Since I was small, books have been my refuge and my delight. etc. You know the drill. In the my more recent years of what I call “bad reality,” I think books did save my life. A lot.

I stopped reading because I had a Seizure. Medication-related, I’m convinced. I was in my backyard. I was on the ground. I was in the  ER. No diagnosis. After that I took to my bed for six weeks and watched every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on videotape. My personal collection. When I finally emerged, the printed word no longer interested me.

Not just books. Newspapers, magazines, The New Yorker, Yes. The New Yorker..

Not-reading taught me a lot.

I’ll get to that.

2 comments on “Confessions of an Illiterate

  1. Shelley says:

    contrary to popular belief, print is still around, and it will wait for you to come back.

    Like

Please join the conversation!

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s