“No matter how busy you may think you are, you must find time for reading, or surrender yourself to self-chosen ignorance.” - Confucius
It's been a busy week or two or fifty-two, but I'm coming to terms with the fact that it's actually no busier than usual. This is the pace of my life. I should probably get used to it and make it work instead of fighting it and letting things slip for "someday when I'm not so busy." Like legally changing my name. And finally planting those thyme seeds. And starting on my list of 26 things I'd like to do by 26 (I did sabre open a bottle of champagne, which was on the list).
And reading. Always reading. My dad recently marveled to me that I manage to read as much as I do (which is not nearly as much as I'd like), wondering aloud how I find the time. His question contained its own answer though: I find the time. It doesn't find me. The demands on my time will only increase as I grow older, when I own a house, have children, work longer hours, etc. Without actively carving out time for books, it would be too easy to find that reading was the activity that offered least resistance in being cut from the schedule. Let me put it on the record: not going to happen.