I cannot recall a time in my life where I went so long without the urge to pick up a new book. Library books were returned unread. I went to the bookstore and bought a book just because I felt I had to, not because my heart was in it: haven’t touched it since I brought it home.
This went on for months, and it got to a point where I was starting to get worried: what was wrong with me?
Turns out, it was just Life. Under normal circumstances, books are my escape from reality but these past few months, reality got a bit too real. Several friends and family members were dealing with some serious stuff all at the same time, and it made it difficult for me to focus on anything other than them. Thankfully things are moving upwards, and I’ve found my fingers itching to get hold of a bundle of paper, my nose twitching at the smell of a bookstore. So, I went to my stack of comfort reads to get myself started again and find myself currently in the middle one of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum novels.
What a relief to be able to announce: I’m back!
Bookworm in the City 