Confession.

I have a confession to make. It's a pretty serious one.

I haven't read a book in months.

I know, I know. That's just awful. I don't want to talk about it. Leave me alone.

 Gap top and pants, Target flats, F21 belt. Can I just say that I love this outfit? And I think I need to color my hair or get highlights or something.

Ok, I'll talk about it.

In all seriousness, I could blame it on my having begun a new job, but I think the statute of limitations on that excuse has run out. I could blame it on the fact that I've been learning something new like sewing or bundt cake baking, but that wouldn't be the truth. I could say I've been training for a marathon, but we all know that I haven't even chosen one for this year yet.

Other things have just taken precedent. Lots of random things.

And my problem--not really a problem, I suppose--is that it takes me a while to get into a book. And it takes me a while to remember how much I enjoy reading. In a weird way, I've got to make myself sit and read. It didn't used to be that way. But, then again, I also spent most of my undergrad and graduate school years reading because I had to.

Don't get me wrong, I typically enjoyed the stuff I had to read, from Shakespeare to "Don Quijote," but it was still a lot of time devoted to just chugging through lots of text.

And now I've lost a bit of my chugging power. I still read. I read all the time at work: news, blogs, online journals. Just not books. I'm going to get back in the saddle.

And, no. I don't need book suggestions. Thanks. Think I'll go find a book.