reading pains

The day I started driving was the day I stopped reading.

I used to read a lot, especially as a kid. I was inseparable from my book of the moment, and I would get very grumpy when I ran out of stuff to read. I would read while eating, while walking, and to my parents’ constant chagrin, while crossing the road. That’s what ears are for wat.

With the passing of time, the number of things to read has grown exponentially while the time to read has whittled to nothingness. Now I categorise my books into the ones I should read, and the ones I want to read. There’s also the third category of books that look good on the shelf. And this doesn’t even count the stuff I have to read for work.

Computer games took a huge chunk out of my reading time. So did school, work, and all the time spent hanging out with friends. But still there was one last enclave of time that my books could call their own: the time I spent commuting on trains and buses, when there was nothing else to do but read.

But ever since I got behind the wheel, even this little reading time has disappeared. Driving has empowered me to spend more time at work, more time out with friends, more time to run errands; I can make every moment count. But this means less time at home, less time in my room, less time with my books.

Nowadays, I do most of my reading on the plane. Or sometimes, when I’m not in a hurry, I take the bus just so I can read. Not surprisingly, little gets read. So today, I’ve decided to try audiobooks.