It occurred to me yesterday that it's been over half a month since I've posted anything new on here. It's already almost the end of May! This won't do. At this rate I'll never be able to beat my record of 48 entries in 2009! I'll have to pick up the slack, one way or another. Right now, to be honest, I can't say I've been motivated to write on here recently. I prepared another spun out entry and I couldn't bring myself to finish it, so I'll leave it for a later date.

In the mean time, I've been doing a hell of a lot of reading in my oodles of free (unemployed) time, so nobody can say I haven't been keeping busy (not to mention applying for one job after another, but that's not very interesting to talk about. So I wont.) If nothing else, I'm rather pleased about this. But even during the school year I can say--with a hint of smugness, I'll admit--that I managed to get some leisurely reading done. In fact, I'm proud to say that I've gotten a lot of reading done over the year. When I'm asked what my hobbies are, the list comes up rather short. The list comes up headed by reading and writing. I feel like I should do more with my time. I'm not a part of any clubs or teams. I just read. I rarely watch movies, and I barely even watch TV. I never play my video games. Don't get me wrong, I love doing all of those things, and reading isn't necessarily superior to any one of them as a pastime. That's just what I seem to do.

It's funny to be saying this now; I think I can say I've always been a sort of academic type, but I don't think you could say I was a bookworm. I was never prolific enough to deserve that title. Granted, having all this free time has changed that, it seems. I do do other things with my day, to be fair: I exercise, try to learn to play piano, run errands and stuff like that. But at the moment, reading is something of a primary activity. For some reason I feel guilty about this fact, like I should be doing more. Instead I just sit there and absorb a story or an argument. It doesn't really benefit anybody but myself. At least with writing, I'm giving or creating something and putting it into the world; someone else has the chance to be engaged with me. But reading is more of a selfish act. At least it can be; I've spent more time with books than I have with my own friends, recently. It's a sorry sight: if left alone for too long, I will be a hermit. Old habits die hard, I guess.

On the other hand, why shouldn't I be happy to be reading? It's more than an act of slightly sophisticated spongery, isn't it? It's a noble and enriching thing, and although this may seem obvious, I think that fact bears repeating, (if nothing else to make me feel better about all of my involuntary free time). So I say to anybody who's realized they just spent the last few hours, days or even weeks doing nothing but: don't feel bad about it! It may seem passive to an outside observer, but that doesn't make it so. Whether you're reading Stephen King or Batman or James Joyce or Robert Munsch, your imagination is a flurry of activity and that should be honoured! So don't take that for granted.