book envy

I just did something I haven't done in at least two years: I finished a book.

Yeah, I know, that's probably something I should be embarrassed about, but I've always found reading a book to be an incredible commitment. It's not like a movie, where you sit in the dark for a couple hours and have it roll by. Reading is always active. I have to make the choice to pick up that book, time and time again, because I rarely have a 14-hour stretch where I can just read straight through and finish it.

Clearly, I don't often have the resolve to pick a book back up again, so I have about three dozen half-read books laying around my apartment.

But today I broke the pattern. I've been reading The Time Traveler's Wife, a book I keep hearing about from random people, and I thought it was absolutely beautiful. It was completely captivating, so honest, and so emotional, despite it's inherently absurd conceit.

It's the kind of story that makes me jealous, that makes me want to start writing and creating and imagining immediately. So that's what I think I'll do. Right after I call someone to tell her how much she truly means to me.