One of my many flaws is an inability to say no to a book that looks interesting. It is probably founded in those days now faded to sepia when I had time to read. Back in the day when it seemed to me I actually had so much time I allowed myself the luxury of feeling bored.
Teenager bored.
Flopping around on the couch, getting up and flopping on the bed. Walking out to the back yard (in summer, of course) and flopping on a lawn chair. Standing in front of the fridge, door open, jaw slack and brain in neutral. Not looking for anything but, well, if there was anything, sigh, which there never is, sigh.
I suspect A.A. Milne was predicting the rise of the moody adolescent when he created Eeyore. Yes, adolescents have always been moody but the 2nd half of the 20th century, added ennui to the fuel mixture.
Prior to that, at least according to my mother, teens had no time to lounge about or get colicky over matters that did not immediately affect their lives. This list of colic inducers included acid rain, under ground nuclear weapons testing, the Newfoundland seal hunt, the Vietnam war and Michael Nesmith leaving the Monkees.
Ah, the good old days.
Then, slowly, this whole growing up thing sort of took over and, suddenly, I was an adult with myself to shelter, feed and clothe. Wow. Like my own place where I could finally flop, lounge, ruminate and look in the fridge for as long as I liked.
Except for that working thing. 
And trying to figure out why I was fascinating the night before but not the morning after.
Eventually the remedial learning to walk class ended. I graduated to solid foods, marriage, kids, a house, that first freaking grey hair.
Way too soon.
Now there is a shortage of time. Read? Well, I do try, honest. And I manage to get through a surprising number of books compared to when I had babies to juggle. I think, gosh, I’m up to 3 this year.
Hard to believe, I know, but it’s because we were traveling for a month this spring and I don’t fall asleep quickly in a constantly changing series of lumpy 2-star Euro hotel beds. Under normal at-home lumpy conditions I can’t get past 3 paragraphs before the floppy book nod starts.
Read during the day? What is this, a play by Ionesco?
