Reading jag

I have been a bit quiet lately, because I've been deep in the grip of a reading jag. I get into these periods where my reading, which is always a constant in my life, spirals into obsession. I'm not the least bit unhappy, since I'm enjoying the reading so much, but I do feel increasingly guilty. I don't want to cook, or clean, or write, or interact with the members of my family or work or do anything productive. I just want the world to leave me alone, so I can read. It's gotten pretty strong this week, to the point that I don't want to sleep or eat, either. These periods can last for weeks, months even, sometimes. This one's been going on for awhile, with no signs of ebbing soon. It's a little worrisome.

It hasn't helped that Delia has been sick for much of the week, and Rob's work schedule has not been synchronized with mine. This means that we've been getting out even less than usual: we didn't go to Delia's karate class this weekend, for example, and I've been with the kids alone a lot.

I've been thinking a lot about Mr. Frodo lately, and especially the state he got into after the Quest was over, when he holed up in his study, gradually keeping to himself more and more, fading away from life. I need a Rose Gamgee to fix delicacies to tempt me to eat at elevenses and tea, and a Sam Gamgee to insist that I leave my study and come down to the Ivy Bush tavern with him for a pint or two. Alas, I am not that fortunate. So I lurk in my study alone.

And spam LiveJournal with inane entries like this one, as I try to figure this all out. Sorry, everyone.

(no subject)

We've finished Robin McKinley's Rose Daughter and I have agreed to read Emerald House Rising out loud to my girls next. Oy.

I've never met any other novelists who have read their own novels to their own children and so don't quite know what it'll be like (most of the novelists I know don't have children.)