When I decided to return to blogging I set ground rules for myself. No blog hosted reading challenges and no “Mailbox Monday’s” posts were two of these rules. The number one rule, however, is not to spend more time trying to get people here than I spend reading books and subsequently writing about them. These rules are inspired by my past blogging experience in which I often put incredible pressure on myself to move traffic towards my minuscule chunk of the internet. This pressure is now coupled with a lack of substance. I don’t want to write half-assed posts and I don’t read enough or buy/trade/receive enough books to feel as if I can really write a post centered on those subjects. If and when, in the future, I am able to devote that type of time to books and the entire experience of the written word I will participate with glee. Until then, my goal here is to strengthen my personal discipline skills with regards to reading and writing.
Nevertheless, I have been obsessively refreshing my blog, anxious for new hits and comments. While taking time from this fanatic clicking today I discovered the perfect solution to my desire to network and the rationale to break two of my ground rules in Bookishly Boisterous’s archives.
The author of said blog has found it fitting to help connect bloggers and readers through a weekly installment called Bookish (And Not So Bookish Thoughts…) I’ve decided to take advantage of this and add to my goals of 2015 a weekly blog post centered around any aspect of my life my fickle mind can decide on and tie that topic to books if I am able.
I guess I’ll just start with a bit of an introduction:
I’m 29 years old and I live in Pittsburgh, PA. I’m a data entry monkey by day and a shut in by night. I enjoy long walks back to my house from where ever the hell it was I had to go in the first place, cold cereal and milk at 9:00 p.m., and binge watching my 28 year old husband play Skyrim or Fallout.
I met Brakk, my wonderful husband in March of 2013. He is my best friend and my rock.
One of the greatest gifts this breathtaking man has given me is the provision of support in our relationship. No matter what it is I’m aiming to accomplish, he is behind me, gently helping me retrain my brain to think positively. Sometimes he’s in front of me pulling me away from the dangers that self-doubt and disbelief impose on creativity.
Here’s a little story about how his support got me to this moment.
For a few years now I haven’t been reading like I did when I was younger. There are a million reasons, none of them of any lasting importance. Until recently I didn’t have much urge to lose myself in a book. I have read a few books here or there, to pass time or because I found a particular story to be interesting, but I haven’t read just to be reading. I used to revel in the feeling of going slightly deaf in reality while an entire other universe spins into existence inside your brain. Or maybe your soul. Most likely both. As of late, however, my mind has been entirely too distracted.
Then, he read Dune. Due to our being quite poor and living in the city, a few months ago Brakk was on the bus a lot. Twice a day he took a half hour ride from Lawrencville to Homewood and on those rides he read. We took the bus together a lot in the morning, but I had much less ground to cover and always got off first.. (go ahead and giggle, that’s what she said)
I’m obsessed with my husband. I’m gross about it and I’m shameless. Every morning I would get off the bus and as I walked down the street I would watch him through the window. The florescent bus lighting seemed to work as a spotlight in the wee hours of the summer days and by the time we were passing each other his black backpack would be on his lap the hands attached to the man I was going to marry would be reaching into it to retrieve a book.
So I wanted to read again, and with that came the urge to blog and here we are. Except it’s not really like that. It took me months to actually sit down and read some and this post alone has taken me 3 days. Every time I think I want to stop because I don’t like it, or it’s not good enough, or uninteresting, he is there. I read all of this to him, sometimes in huge chunks, sometimes one sentence every twenty minutes. He reads over my shoulder even when I gripe at him not to and he smiles at what he sees on the screen. He knows how many likes my Facebook page has.
and here we are.