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Hunger for reading loses more than page
(by Christine Thome - October 13, 2010)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
Hunger for reading loses more than page
Forgive me if you've already read this column, but I can barely remember what I ate for dinner last night, much less what I wrote a month ago.
People who know me know I am a voracious reader. Much to my husband's dismay, I hoard books like the crazy lady hoards animals. Most of the time, I have one in the bunch that I'm anxious to read right away, and the others get placed on the bookshelf -- or stacked precariously on the floor or under the couches or shoved in desk drawers -- to read another day.
Last week, I decided to control my bibliophile OCD and grabbed a mystery book off the shelf, instead of racing to the bookstore. The book was OK. Not riveting but not enough to make me fall asleep right away either. It had enough content to make it worth my while to muddle through, and I kept hoping it was going to really wow me at the end. Kind of like most people's sex lives.
But throughout the book, I had a sense of deja vu. It was almost as if the author and I were on the same page (no pun intended), and I knew what was going to happen before it actually happened. I didn't chalk it up to poor, predictable writing. Instead, I gave myself full credit for being so astute and aware. I even considered the thought that perhaps I should write a mystery book.
By the end of the last chapter, I realized I was no psychic or up-and-coming novelist. I just forgot that I had already read the book.
Earlier this summer, I picked up one book at the library that looked interesting. I took it home and, after the first three chapters, decided it wasn't going to be worth my while to finish, so I put it aside.
Several days later, I was shopping with my daughters at a large department store, and, while they were comparing and contrasting the colors and consistencies of mascaras, I wandered to the book section. It didn't take long to find something that would fix my cravings.
After dinner that night, I took a glass of wine outside and began to read my new book. It was really good! It held my attention right from the beginning, and I pushed myself to finish it within a few days.
Imagine my surprise when I stumbled across the free library book I had put aside. It was the same book I had just finished and bought with my hard-earned money. Not only did I forget that I didn't like the book, but I forgot to take the library book back before it was due. Hence, I bought a book I could have read for free, and I had to pay interest on the free book.
I started to panic. Is 43 too young to show signs of Alzheimer's? Is dementia setting in? What is wrong with me? It was time for some medical intervention.
"You don't show any signs of Alzheimer's, and you don't have dementia," my doctor said.
"Then what's wrong with me?"
"My medical opinion? You are a mother of four active kids. You work, you volunteer, you keep track of everyone's schedule and have to keep up with that crazy husband of yours! You are not losing it; you're just stretched too thin."
"Is there a magic pill I can take to make it all better?" I begged.
"No magic pill. Just the magic word -- no."
"While I'm here, I'm pretty sure my thyroid has shut down completely," I said.
"Why do you think that?"
"Because I'm gaining a lot of weight, and I'm tired all the time," I said. The Internet has just enough information to make me dangerous.
"Again, you're tired, because you're racing all day long. As far as the weight gain, do you exercise regularly, watch what you eat and keep the wine to a minimum?"
I had to answer, no, no and no to each of his questions.
"So no magic pill to make me skinny, full of energy and not so forgetful?" I cried.
"Not unless you want Michael Jackson's doctor," he quipped.
Forget about it.
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