In last week’s post, I talked about how recently reading a book was something of a novel (no pun intended) experience. I didn’t go into the details about why, instead suggesting that this could be the topic for next week’s post.

Well, guess what. It’s next week, and as I don’t seem to have any better ideas, I’m going to make good on that suggestion. Why don’t I read much? The answer will be right here and right now.

I’ve said it before, but I suppose I have little choice but to say it again. I’m a busy fellow. Work, family, all that stuff. Now that in itself shouldn’t be a problem. After all, the world is full of busy people. In fact, I reckon when I compare myself to the average person, I’m possible not as busy as I perceive myself to be. And there are plenty of those more-busy-than-me people who don’t have trouble finding the time or incentive to get some reading done. And even more so, shouldn’t that encourage reading? Isn’t reading the perfect antidote to a busy world?

So what gives? What is the matter with me?

I reckon it’s not just the fact that I’m busy that is the problem. It’s more about the nature of the busyness. I’m not especially busy in a physical sense. I’m not rushing around from place to place, or engaging in back-breaking labour. If you saw me, sitting at a desk all day, you may even question my basic premise. I don’t look that busy at all. But it is brain heavy work. By the end of the day, I’m pretty fried. And then, after battling the traffic on the way home, I’m kind of done.

While the idea of picking up a book sounds appealing in concept, my brain just isn’t in a state for reading. When I read a book, I like to find myself totally immersed. I like to disappear into the pages, and lose all touch with reality. Problem is, to achieve that state, I need a certain level of openness from my mind. And after forcing my brain to rush around in circles all day, I find it really difficult to slow it down sufficiently to properly enter reading mode. That’s why, it’s usually only when I’m on holiday, and my mind can take a break from the roller-coaster of work, that I find myself looking for something to read.

Funny thing is, though I find it hard to read, I still manage to get writing down in my after-work hours. Maybe it’s a different type of mind activity. Maybe it’s because the world I’m immersing myself in is my own creation, rather than someone else’s, so it’s easier to do. Maybe it’s sheer bloody-mindedness and determination to get my books written. Either way, I can do it – just.

So in the meantime, I’ll muddle along from day-to-day, doing my best to write what I can, and looking forward to my next break so I can get into reading mode again.