I read this morning.
I know you probably think there should be more to that statement but there's really not. On the train into work this morning, I read.
I'm not a big reader. I haven't been since I was much younger. I got into movies and then into television and my time for sitting and reading just disappeared. I'd rather watch it happen than read about it happening which is why I have a Masters in Visual Rhetoric and not just...rhetoric.
But be that as it may, I read this morning. Earlier this week, feeling rather splendid about the day I was having, the prospects of the week ahead and exciting possibilities of the weekend after that, I found myself wandering through a Fox Books...uh...I mean Barnes and Noble, looking at the covers of people's memoirs, judging them and plotting what the cover of my own will look like. Some were on sale, so I ended up purchasing three.
While I consider reading these memoirs more a research-based activity, it doesn't change the fact that I am reading, even though I don't care for books. Yes, I was the English major that didn't like to read and I'm the writer that wants to write books but doesn't care for reading them. Yes. I am a temple of ironic mischief. A tower of contradictions. A lone reed.
The moral of this story is that I read this morning and more than likely, I will read on the way home tonight as well. Now whether I will continue to read after I have pillaged these memoirs is another story. A story that I will no doubt keep you posted on. A story that perhaps, you will read in my memoir.