A bit of an introspective post today.
I logged into my goodreads account to start following some more groups and maybe even get an idea of what to talk about in blog posts (maybe join top 5 Wednesday for a start). Instead I was confronted with how many books I managed to read this year and felt a weird sense of longing and disappointment.
Now, in case you were wondering I managed to read 29 books this year which was 4 over my goal of 25. You would think that was a good thing and in a way, it is. The thing you don't know though is that earlier this year, from January to July I was reading about 7 books a month. I was active in goodreads groups and often participated in monthly challenges.
Then my husband came back from deployment and I stopped reading as much, falling into an incredibly long book slump. I have started about 10-15 books and have only managed to finish a few of them- three books.
I have read three books since July. And as someone who loves to read, someone who used to carry a book in her bag a la Rory from Gilmore Girls and was almost always with a book, this hurts me. I feel as if I let my inner bookworm down which is stupid yes, but it doesn't take the feelings away.
On the positive side, I did read 29 books this year and while not a lot of them were 5 star reads, quite a few of them were pretty great.