Looking a bit ragged from being dragged around everywhere – Photo: L. Weikel
This Is It
I realized something a little bit weird about myself this evening. (OK. I know. That fruit’s hanging so low you just need to leave it alone.)
It came to my attention when I felt a twinge of embarrassment as I plopped down on our couch in the midst of a conversation with my daughter-in-law, Tiffany. Everybody was sitting in the living room reading, and I was joining them for a few minutes before dinner was ready. As I settled into my usual spot on the couch, I pulled my book out from under the papers and pillow next to me.
My discomfort became obvious to me when I noticed her gaze lighting upon the book in my hands.
“Yeah…umm,” I stuttered. “Can you believe this?” I asked, waving the book in front of me, making a point to reveal precisely where my bookmark hovers, some 30 pages or so from the end.
I was painfully aware that Tiffany knew I’d been reading The Overstory voraciously at the beginning of last month, when I had a few days reserved at the cabin on the bank of the Tohickon. Indeed, I’d written two posts that made at least tangential mention of this unique and moving novel, with one of them extolling the virtue of solitude and the opportunity to engage in serious, hours-long binge-reading.
And yes, I’d reveled in those hours and the opportunity they provided me to give myself over to immersing myself in the several story lines that so artfully weave themselves though this book.
Busted
Yet here I was, still toting this book around, even though I’d raved about it seemingly at least year before, even though it was only a little over a month ago. I was ashamed.
I held the obviously dog-eared text aloft and made a point to highlight the bookmark’s location. “I can’t believe I haven’t finished this,” I said almost apologetically. I’d probably read 30 pages since leaving off after having read most of the book at the beginning of September.
“I only give myself permission to read for pleasure after I’ve written my blog post at the end of the day,” I admitted – hearing how awful that actually sounded when spoken aloud.
When she looked at me quizzically, I realized – oh my goodness – it is not even remotely an option for me to consider reading ‘for pleasure’ during the day. It’s just, I don’t know; there are so many other tasks that demand my attention during the day, it would feel frivolous to take time out to read for pleasure.
Delusion of the Self-Employed?
I’m not sure, but it’s possible that at least some of my reluctance to read for pleasure during the day stems from my belief that, especially being self-employed, I need to be furthering my work in some way all the time. With the exception, of course, of the precious few minutes I may still be conscious after I’ve written and posted my blog, shared it on FB, and slipped a bit bleary-eyed between the sheets.
Clearly, this is a delusion. And truth be told, I initially had as my heading, above, “Curse of the Self-Employed.” But you know what? That’s a crock. It’s an erroneous belief. It’s aberrant; a delusion. And if it is even remotely a ‘curse,’ it is the epitome of self-sorcery.
The only person putting that curse upon me is my little own self.
Let me be clear: Tiffany barely got a word in edgewise regarding my book. She was neither mean nor judgmental. Her expression, however, said it all.
Ninety nine percent of this internal conversation and these revelations took place within moments of my own realization of how embarrassed I was to be admitting this out loud.
Tomorrow’s Promise
And so, when I began this post with its title, “This Is It,” it was my intention to simply declare all of this malarkey for what it is and claim some time for myself this evening. Time to complete The Overstory so I can, first of all, achieve closure over how it’s all going to wrap up and, second of all, begin my next literary adventure.
But alas, it’s taken me a fair amount of time to articulate my evening’s revelation. And as often happens, I’m now going to futz around with uploading a photo or two, creating some links, messing with the SEO, and ultimately posting and sharing the link on social media. My eyelids will be drooping (even more than they are this very moment).
So the best I can hope for is to promise myself that tomorrow I will devote the hour or so I need to complete the book – in spite of the number of pressing items on my to-do list – even if, heaven forbid!, I need to take that time in the middle of the day.
I hope you’re routinely better at this than I am. Clearly, I yearn to improve.
(T-783)
