I used to LOVE reading. It was my whole deal. Some kids are sporty, some are horse girls; I was a reader. I flew through every book I could get my hands on devouring chapter after chapter for hours on end. Remember those Accelerated Reader tests in elementary school? Yeah, I read so much I finished all the tests by fourth grade and couldn't move up any higher.

Our family weekly trips to the library were my favorite days. I could fill my nose with the smell of aged ink and paper and fill my bag with books to hold me over the next week. Middle school was much of the same; burning through books as quickly as I could get them. I was even a library assistant in 8th grade to prolong my time in the blissful quiet of my school library.

I got a lot busier in high school, but I still adored reading. Even though we had plenty of boring books assigned to us, I still reveled in trips to bookstores and libraries. I didn't lose my love, just the time available to nurture it. Summers and breaks were filled with new discoveries and the subsequent 2 days holed up in my room after I got into them.

But then...

College.

Naturally, since I love reading, I decided to major in English. Let me tell you, that love ran dry QUICKLY. English degrees (obviously) require a shit ton of literature classes. At first, that wasn't a problem, and I even read the assigned books. That was done by the second semester. I became angry, tired and eventually indifferent to all the boring, old as hell misogynist books written by crusty white men I was required to read and hail as the greatest compositions known to man. African- American Lit was a small reprieve in the constant onslaught of monotony, but one class wasn't enough to end my disillusionment with the magic of literature.

Not only did I take no interest in the books for class, but I began to not care for reading at all. Before college, it was rare to find me without a book in my bag. Now I can't remember when I read a whole book for pleasure. Luckily, I am in my final semester and I don't have to take any more lit classes. I can feel my love for reading slowly returning, recovery will take a while. I might even return to some of the books I was supposed to read for my lit classes now that they're untethered from the forced analyses of professors.

But no matter when or how my passion is reignited you will NEVER catch me with another Shakespeare play again.