I started reading again recently. I hadn’t read a book in SEVERAL YEARS, not since I started working from home. I used to read on the train when I commuted to work, so once I no longer commuted, I simply stopped reading. I kept on buying books, but I never made the time to read them.

Jen and I have taken up reading before bed each night. I started off with William Gibson’s “Zero History”, which had been sitting on my shelf since it came out two years ago. I really enjoyed it, and it makes me want to go back and read all of his other books again. Now I’m reading Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road”, which Jen gave me for my birthday WHO KNOWS how many years ago.

I don’t understand how I could forget about something as basic and important as reading. It’s so stupid and sad, and I feel like kind of an idiot now. It’s such a great way to wind my brain down before bed, too. It beats playing fucking solitaire on my iPhone. And it certainly beats laying awake in the dark, thinking negative thoughts.