OK, so reading isn't the worst addiction to have, but it's getting pretty crazy over here.
Lately I've been reading The Hollows series by Kim Harrison. I read the first last month on a recommendation from a friend. With that one book, my love of reading was rekindled and I've been plowing through them like my life depends on it. In fact, I just finished the 6th book in the series today. That's my fourth book this month, and it's only the 10th. (I'm keeping track on Goodreads.)
Part of it probably comes from the knowledge that in just under two weeks I'll be back in classes, unable to read much of anything unless it has been assigned to me. I'm sure "Cognition: Theories and Applications" will be informative, but it's not the kind of reading I thrive on.
Pretty much since I can remember, fiction has been my escape from reality. When I'm reading a book that has really grabbed me and pulled me in, it's like I'm living the book. I don't picture myself as one of the characters or anything, but I completely lose the world around me, and the only thing I know is whatever is written on the pages in my hands. I become so attached to the characters in my books, and ripping myself out of their lives to go back into mine sucks sometimes.
Hubby keeps threatening to take me to the library, but the problem I have is that I love to re-read books. I've read my favorite book at least six times. And that number will continue to go up, because revisiting an old favorite is like re-living a favorite memory. The comfort of a good, well-known story does good for my soul, and I don't part with books easily.Logically, I should get a Kindle or a Nook (as I'm sure it would save me loads of dough), but there's something about the smell of a new book and the way the pages feel when they're worn with love that just won't let me do it. Lame? Probably. But hey, this is my blog. Suck it.