not too long ago i saw a photo online that talked about girls who read. it was talking about how they have a doorway into infinite worlds, or some jazz like that. i felt partially wounded, because i don’t consider my self a bookhound or someone who reads alot. i like books alot, but i don’t read as much as i use to. back before boys and clothes and cars, i loved books. i would read one whole book in a night. they weren’t big books, but they were my favorite. back then i was really into rl stine and vc andrews. i would beg my granny to buy one for me everyday and she would almost always say yes.
the first one i read was broken hearts by rl stine. it was about a girl in high school who has a secret admirer who was insane and obsessed with her (from what i remember). he would put bloody valentines on her locker and killed people. it was definitely a murder mystery, and i was hooked.
my other favorites that i remember were the cheerleaders saga, one called twisted about two sisters who switched bodies, and another about a girl with a secret door in her room. i loved vc andrews’ runaways and wallflowers. anything about a troubled girl with a some what creepy storyline intrigued me.
as the years went by i became less intrigued with books and more intrigues with real life mysteries. namely the biggest mystery of all… the males of our species. when i was old enough to drive i cut and ran, and i barely ever looked back. it wasn’t until i was older and i moved to a new town, where i knew no one, that i began being interested in the world of books again.
i had nothing to do and no where to go, and where did i end up??!?!?
at the book store, surrounded by the smell of coffee. i always feel like a kid in a toy store b/c there are so many that i want to buy, but i know i could never read them all.
throughout my life i have had a pattern of forgetting about books, when things are good and exciting. i go and have great time, but when i find myself alone and i want to do something just for me, i almost always chose to read.
there are those who say life is about creating yourself and not learning about yourself, but i have learned alot about myself. i have learned that i like books, and books will always be there for me no matter what. i can always sit down and open a book and transport myself into a another place and time.
about four years ago i met my husband. he is also a lover of books, maybe even more than me. no, definitely more than me. 🙂 we bonded over christopher moore’s lust lizard of melancholy cove. a book i had borrowed from my best friend. i stopped reading for a while. i think i almost felt intimidated b/c he would joke about my not reading fast enough and said i didn’t like the same books as him. none of which were true, and i have since called him out. everyone reads at their own pace and i don’t have to like the same books he likes. we’re two separate people. 🙂
but oddly enough, i still find myself trying to get his attention through reading. after all…. reading IS sexy. i don’t see anything wrong with reading a bit more to keep an interest in our conversations and spark new stuff between us. actually, i’d say that is pretty healthy. 😀 and at the same time it is something i am doing for me too. i miss having things for myself, so i think it is great “thing” to have. as far as things go. 🙂 because everyone knows.