Before the outbreak of my depression I used to be a more-than-hundred-books-a-year kind of girl. In 2010 my reading list contained exactly 118 items. In 2011 they were 155. I used to read in four different languages and about all existing genres, like music treatises written in gothic German from 1553 or the physiology of mood disorders, not to mention Real Literature (whatever it actually is) and countless mystery books. When I got sick I lost track of my readings, so I have no list and don’t know the exact number of books I read in 2012 but, well, I lost so many other things due to my depression (like my real life, just to name one) that such minor inconveniences just doesn’t matter anymore to me. I don’t fuss around about small things. I’m doing it big. If I lose, I lose everything. That’s my motto. Haha.
Since I started working those famous 13-hours shifts of ours in last April, I don’t read anymore. I just have no energy and no interest. All I want to do on my free days is to sleep or (if I can pull myself together to put on clothes instead of hanging out in pyjamas all day) to get out and see the daylight. My reading list of February therefore contains exactly three books: an Agatha Christie, an Andrea Camilleri and a Joseph Roth. I did also watch two whole seasons of old Friends episodes and three and a half of the Miss Marple films. That’s all intellectual effort I am able to take in this recent phase of my life.
(And yes, I’m aware of the fact that something’s gone wrong with my camera. It doesn’t focus anymore. I’m taking it back to the store today).