Dear Book Collection,
So, how’s it going? It’s been a while since I picked one of you guys up and actually read you. But that’s not my fault; required reading for all my classes has pulled me away from you and completely stolen my attention. Trust me, I’d much rather finally finish The Dark Tower series than read over Oedipus one more time. Unfortunately, my love for Stephen King novels isn’t going to get me my degree.
The worst part is, some of you are in my dorm room right now, right across from my bed, and judging me when I finally have some free time and choose to watch Netflix instead of giving you the attention you deserve. I am a disgrace and a sham, and I’m not sure why I still call myself a book nerd. It’s not that I don’t love you, it’s just...come midnight or even 1am, my eyes and brain aren’t looking to process words and information and plotlines. They’d rather fall into a vegetative state during a King of Queens, Everybody Loves Raymond, and Mom binge on TV Land.
The worst part is, I don’t even really like Everybody Loves Raymond. I just leave it on because it takes absolutely zero brain power to comprehend and predict each episode's plot (also, Debra deserves a way better husband than Raymond, just sayin’). And since I don’t like the show, I know perfectly well that that is the prime time to stop being a couch potato and pick up a damn book.
I’d like to say I’ll do better and start spending time with you again, but my mother always told me not to tell lies. I can definitely say that I’ll try though.