I've been reading this book for years. Literally years.
Not that it's a bad book. It just keeps getting left behind or misplaced.
I leave it behind in a pile when I move to another country. It gets kicked deep underneath the bed and I don't retrieve it for six months.
It's taken a long time. I lack focus. i am easily distracted. I am reading too many books at once and not finishing any of them.
I am here, then there. Stuff gets lost and left behind.
Now it's almost over.
It feels wrong in a way for it to end like this. Me reading, easily coasting through the pages. Because he's good. So damn good. And it's the type of book I love.
It's a good book and I probably should've treated it better.
I'm tempted to read something else and save the last ten pages for tomorrow.
Tonight, lying in bed, unable to sleep as I have been so much lately doesn't seem right. It's not what I want to be doing and the book competes with all these other thoughts. Why can't I sleep? How can I function and be happy if I can't sleep? I'll be tired tomorrow, the kind of tiredness that permeates your soul. The kind of tiredness that I'd hoped to shed by now but that I am still carrying around saying it gets better, it'll go away. But when?
Maybe I should just finish the book. Do something useful with this extra time that I have.
You can get a lot done when you can't sleep.
It's satisfying to finish tasks, to check things off lists, to feel like you've accomplished something. These to-dos and things you've started but never finished hang over you like piles of books you started and really do intend to one day finish.