Somewhere along the post grad days, I lost my love of reading. Somewhere in the race to be the first of my ilk to publish, to produce, to master, I lost my way around books and literature.
After some solicitations, it was suggested that I read The Road by Cormac McCarthy.
I took it up months ago, and after peeling off the "Oprah Book Club" sticker, the book went from suitcase to hotel room to suitcase to hotel room, largely unread.
I've been -don't-even-get-out-of-bed-sick, for almost a month.
At first the sentence fragments bothered me, but I lurched on. I slept, ate Nyquil and trudged through. And then I started to be moved by it, and then it was over.
And then I got out of bed.
I have a lot of catching up to do...