Literary Magnetisism

I suddenly realize that the reason I cannot get things done is because I am a literary magnet.  I am heading towards the end of my three-week winter break and I am looking around at a house with tables covered with papers, remnants of the past holiday in the form of scented pine cones in baskets, a credenza that refuses to show its surface and various environmentally friendly bags hanging randomly on knobs of all sorts.  The conclusion I have come to is that the reason I am not successfully cleaning my house, organizing my papers and clearing surfaces is because I cannot stop reading.

I am hopelessly addicted to books, beautifully and artistically stacked on my side table, my desk, my night table and the credenza, and am reading 3 concurrently, but it does not end there because I have a mirad of magazine articles I have saved to read and my latest addiction:  Blogs.  It is such a treat to read the musings of so many wonderful writers, like small appetizers that fill up my time while I await my main course of one of the books tempting me.  I am hopeless and cannot stop!  I am staying up way too late and have had to buy a small reading light to allow my husband to sleep while I read into the wee hours.  Sadly, some people have to get up and go to work.

I am beginning to panic at the thought of going back to work next week as I have totally adapted to life in the pages.  Luckily the reading inspires writing so I am not falling too far behind in that area, but I worry about the panic I am likely to feel Sunday night as I realize I didn’t carry out the household tasks I listed at the beginning of the break.  Life is short though, and time well-spent reading is my dessert.