As I take a break from the unbelievable amount of work I've allowed to pile up over the past few weeks, I suddenly realize that I've scarcely done anything I enjoy lately. I mean, of course I've put aside everything and focused my attention on something besides homework, but I don't think I've truly enjoyed much of it, and with a constant reminder of what's still to come, it does not ease the stress.
I don't read much anymore. I don't seem to have time for it. It's heartbreaking because books were always a huge part of my life. They provided so much: an escape from the real world, yet with a deeper understanding of life. And, naturally, entertainment. As the years have gone by (wow, it sounds as if I'm ninety or something), I've moved on to preoccupying my life with other things. Not that it has always affected me negatively, but it is certainly different than when I was ten years old. What happened to the days when I would go to the library every chance I would get to check out something new. I would always get the biggest ones; I used to think the thinner ones were beneath me. But I was younger then. I would always gravitate toward the same kinds too, especially ones that were part of a series, because they would guarantee me something else to read when I was finished.
I used to love books. I think I still do, but sometimes I feel so completely unconnected to their world that it's almost as though I've lost a very close friend. I know that's an overly dramatic comparison.
I guess it all correlates with the steady separation between ourselves and our childhood over the course of a lifetime.
How depessing is that! Sorry if I ruined anyone's mood!
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