Posthuman Blues

I've got a problem. I don't read nearly as much as I did only a couple months ago. I still have a long and ever-changing list of titles to read; I still dote over the shelves at Barnes & Noble. But I'm having difficulty getting back in my groove.

Part of the problem is that I've got this unquenchable ego that interprets good writing as a challenge. ("Why am I reading this when I could be writing something of my own? How dare I line this author's pockets when I've got stuff of my own I want to work on?")

Another part of my problem is that, in my own quiet way, I'm an unrepentant people-watcher, and since I habitually read in public places, this gives my mind ample excuse to wander. ("What in the world does a girl like her see in a guy like that?")