Spectator-mode Notepad
At times, I wish I had read more.
It’s not like I’ve read nothing. I just haven’t read a lot.
And I understand a lot is a variable, subjective amount.
For a person who works as much as I do, I have read a fair amount.
For a person who plays as many video games as I do, I have read a fair amount.
For a person who works on other projects as I do, I have read a fair amount.
But as a person, I have no read enough.
And I’m bad at quoting. If I haven’t read a book 4 times, I cannot quote from it. The same rule applies to movies.
And there’s an accused-autistic part of my brain that would much rather read the same books over and over again than to look for new books. New books could be bad. They could waste my time.
So I read the same books. I’ve read the Redemption of Althalus so much that I broke my original copy. The pages began to fall out, and I had to repurchase.
I’ve read the Harry Potter books in 5 different languages, multiple times.
Brent Week’s Night Angel Triology is something I devoured.
And, of course, I’ve read Pride and Prejudice more times than a person really should.
I’ve read other books. I’m sure by some standards, I’d be considered quite the book enthusiast. I’ve probably read hundreds of books throughout my life.
I’m thirty-six years old. Even if I’ve read five-hundred books, that’s only 13 books a year. A little more than one per month.
I don’t recall having read a new book for months. So I’ve likely not read over 500. 200 books is 5 books a year. 5 new books. That seems more likely.
I have read, though. I’ve read old books. I’ve obsessed over them, basked in them. Wrapped myself in secure knowledge of how they will start, how they will end, how events inside them will transpire.
So I’m caught in a continuous whirlwind. I want to read, but the books I want to read don’t add to my overall total.