I have started to read consistently again. This is a good thing. I am taking it slow though, reading at a pace that I am comfortable with – ten to twenty pages per day – before my siestas, before I sleep. It is not much but I feel productive already.
It is such a joy to hold an open book, the smell of pulp filling my nostrils as I glide my eyes through each and every sentence, allowing imageries to fill my mind. I had been a voracious reader, a long time ago. I guess as the years go buy, real-life issues took priority. I cannot even remember when I stopped reading just for the pleasure of it.
I regret the day I stopped. My life has been poorer for the lack of creative stimulation that could only come from reading. No wonder I was bored often. Now that I have gotten back into the rhythm again, there is a sense of fulfillment. And you know what? I feel less stupid already.
