Something must be really wrong with me. Good thing I also have the capability to recognize stupid problems, but since I’m such drama-laden, I go through a sticky maze just to get over them instead of solving them head-on.
Right now, I noticed that I’ve been pushing myself to read stuff that I’m not in the mood giving at least a glance. When you find yourself stressing over book choices, that inside your head there’s like a very strict teacher telling you to pick up a particular book and read it even if it’s against your will, then something is wrong with you.
So something is wrong with me, and I’m killing it now.
I’m not like this before. I used to not care. Now, I always care at the expense of my personal (shallow) satisfaction.
Gee, wut did I just say?
Anyway, who should I be pleasing with my book choices other than myself? No one. I should not give a rat’s ass if other people think my choices are off, too mainstream, too dark, too shallow. Whatever I feel like reading, I should go with it.
I joined reading challenges not to strictly confine me but only to introduce an order in my reading queue. I am not legally obligated to comply. I may or may not successfully finish them. I will still try, although my mood would definitely prevail because reading is supposed to be my main diversion, my top hobby. And I love it more than anything because it’s only February yet I already bought 35 books since the year started.
If this is not love then I don’t know what is. You tell me.