MotherReader

Lately I’ve reserved Sundays to highlight blog posts that I’ve noticed during the week. But today, I’m just going to mention one. Because honestly, I can’t think of any others after turning my brain to mush watching hours of American Idol while folding umpteen loads of laundry. Did you know that you could actually watch so many episodes in a row that you could make yourself a little sick to your stomach? Neither did I.

Anyway, today Robin Brande really came through for me as she recounted her feeling of being overwhelmed by the mundane (like cleaning) because of time spent blogging. It’s a great conversation in the comments, and I hope other bloggers will stop by and share our little addiction. (Hi. I’m Pam. I’ve been blogging for a year now, and I may have a problem. Hi, Pam!)

But this was the second time Robin made me Think this week (twice in one week!). Lately, she’s been using Friday to ask readers how they took care of themselves during the week. Her way of being nice to herself reminded me of a post I did a long time ago, so I thought I would repost it. Enjoy, Robin and others:

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Sometimes you just know that it isn’t working out. Sure, there was an initial attraction, but then... nothing. You’re just bored. Little irritations become big issues. “Who uses the word paradigm anyway?” You fight to stay invested. It may get better. It may be worth all the struggles in the end. But maybe you’re just not in that place now, for something light or something serious or something different. You know you need to make room in your life for something new, but it feels so wrong.

It’s okay to say, “It’s not you, it’s me,” when you’re dumping a book.

You can dump a decent book if it just doesn’t fit you, doesn’t engage you, doesn’t interest you, doesn’t make you want to keep reading. There are too many fish in the sea — or books on the shelves, as it were — to waste time on the wrong one. Even if it’s just the wrong book for you, for now.

I was not always this harsh, this cold. I would read the worst book to the very end, but I would be resentful. I wasn’t enjoying myself, or worse, wasn’t reading at all, stifled with guilt over the book I was avoiding. I had to change. I still find it difficult to let go, but it is getting easier.

Not too long ago I helped a friend get out of a bad book relationship. With a young child, she has limited time to read and was strugging with a book of short stories. We talked about it, and I told her it was time to move on. She took my advice and later confessed what a pleasure it was to finally remove the bookmark from the pages. The relief is like seeing your favorite contestant in the bottom two of American Idol and then she’s sent back to the bench and she’s safe for another week. Or something like that.