A colleague said to me recently about starting a blog for my company that I would soon suffer from blog guilt if I didn’t update frequently enough. I’m well aware of blog guilt—it’s part of the reason why you’ll find ridiculous posts about turkeys on this site (the other part is that I’m avoiding really heavy, sad topics that I’m not ready to address yet). But I can usually be motivated by the sweet, sweet feeling of pressing that “publish” button and sending my pointless drivel out into the world so that 8 people can like it on Facebook.
What I find myself constantly putting off, and then feeling terrible guilt about procrastinating over, is sitting down and finishing a good book.
Why should I feel guilt? I don’t have any required reading book reports to complete. I don’t have a summer reading list as long as the guest list to my and Alex’s Italian/Mexican wedding. Reading at this stage in our lives is purely for fun. And yet I can’t seem to pick up more than one book every couple of months. Ask me how many of them I’ve actually finished?
When I sink my hooks into a really great book I can polish it off in a matter of days, hours. I finished Rob Delaney’s Mother. Wife. Sister. Human. Warrior. Falcon. Yardstick. Turban. Garbage. in one cross-country flight. It was brilliant. Here’s my favorite excerpt because, well, why not:
As [food] enters my mouth, the taste makes my brain go “DING DING DING! YUMMY HEADED TOWARD MY TUMMY!” Then it has the bonus effect of slowing down my thoughts and making me feel like I’m being hugged from the inside from somebody who really loves me, unlike the terrible “people” in my life. I suppose I shouldn’t eat in this manner, but keep in mind: fuck you.
Funny, acerbic, and sometimes achingly sad memoirs really get me these days. But for whatever reason, I can’t seem to make it through a good piece of fiction. I don’t know if it’s because I’m an adult now and adulthood is where imagination goes to die, or if I just haven’t found the right bit of fiction, but for whatever reason, I don’t have the ummph in me to sloff through the narratives. I tried Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance but I didn’t even get one-third of the way through before I gave up. I’m now three chapters into Ghost Brigades and as soon as I finish this blog I am forcing myself to read at least one more chapter before I fall asleep tonight.
Holy shit. I’m procrastinating reading this book by blogging instead.
Kids, we have a problem. Do you guys ever suffer from book guilt? Or am I the only nerd who feels like she needs to turn in her nerd card if she doesn’t meet a monthly book quota?
The Olive Gal
green of skin, black of heart
I have book guilt often and it’s because of my addiction to the internet. I love reading articles, fiction, essays and, chyeah, blogs, and I worry that I don’t read books enough. But then reading can inspire my writing and put the book down an hour in…It’s a cycle. 🙂