I’ve always loved reading, but lately (well, I say lately, it has been years and years), I’ve read less and less. I mean, I have read for work. I’m a teacher, and sometimes there are things I have to figure out or remind myself of, so I read. But that is a different kind of reading, really, isn’t it? I have read newspapers and magazines, and random stuff off the internet, but that, too, is a different kind of reading. Also, I’ve watched way too much television. Way too much. Not that there is anything wrong with watching the telly. There’s lots of great telly these days. Although, I will admit that I do not always watch great telly. Quite often I watch telly that does not require anything from any living brain cell residing in or near the frontal lobe. (Wait, would that include sight? Where is the visual cortex? I mean, I guess I might need sight for watching telly.) And, after a long day’s work, letting your brain do very little, I will insist, is perfectly fine.
However, I've missed reading. Proper reading. Not because I have to, but because I want to. Not because I feel that I should read, but because I enjoy reading. Maybe because of the aforementioned lack of frontal lobe use, I might have lulled myself into thinking that that kind of reading requires a fireplace, a comfy armchair and a cup of tea, when I reality it only requires a book. (And, possibly a cup of coffee, depending on the time of day. I rarely drink tea.)
Around new year’s, social media was filling up of people’s resolutions. I noticed that quite a few of them where reading related. People were vowing to read a hundred books, or fifty books or twenty books in the coming year. I wasn’t. That is, not until late January. I don’t’ know why or how, but I started reading, and now I think I might try to do fifty before next new year. So that is my resolution. That, and occasionally yoga.