So my husband has pointed out that I seem to be obsessed with my kindle, apparently reading hours before I go to bed has become an addiction but watching television in order to help him fall asleep is not considered as such. He calls my kindle and my laptop as electronic appendages. Which I didn't want to admit to him, but that was a pretty funny and most accurate analogy if I do say so myself?
I must admit that I have found myself on the Internet more searching sites and reading blogs for new and exciting things to read. It really has become somewhat of an obsession lately. 've found my passion again for reading and I love it, what's wrong with that? Years and years ago, I could be found curled up on the couch reading Joanna Lindsey and Heather Graham. Nowadays, I'm more into the Paranormal and Urban Fantasies and just can't break free from it's hold over me.
I spent yesterday morning doing all the household chores, then couldn't wait to snuggle up on the swing outside to read my kindle. Wasn't it well deserved? I mean, I dusted, I swept, I cleaned the kitchen, the bathroom and did laundry. What more is expected of me? Oh, yeah, right! I still have an upstairs but who sees that but the both of us, I mean really, it's not like it had to get done right that very second, maybe I was unconsciously saving it to make sure I have something to do next weekend.
I'm on a timeline here, I know. I gave myself the end of April for many of my goals, (Did I mention I'm a procrastinator?) it can still happen.
I admit it. I'm a Readaholic. There I said it. I admitted it. Isn't that the first step towards recovery? The question is who am I hurting anyway? It's all good - and that right there seems to be my problem – all – too - damn - good.