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| pull up a chair |
Some people escape by working out. Going to movies. Jogging or swimming. Napping. (wait, yeah, napping is good) Listening to music.
I read.
Or I stress over reading because there’s so many books to read and no clue where to begin. (that’s for another post).
Reading is 100% individual time. Unless you’re being read to, of course. However, if I’m being read to that leads to nap time. Hey, stories are soothing to me.
Reading takes me away without the hassle of packing and bringing home laundry loads. I never have to leave my chair – bed or couch. Oh and the bath…where was I?
I love to daydream and books are other people’s daydreams shared. Now wait a minute that’s a tad scary. Mind you, I would rather visit a pretend killer or monster than a real one. Maybe us writers are really potential serial killers and words hold us in check? There’s a story in there…yeah. If ______ ever stops typing or writing _____ is driven to…sorry my imagination started to run away with me, again.
Imagination.
When you were a child didn’t you just love running with your imagination? My neighbourhood ran with imaginary killer monster bears. And a shout out to my older cousins for the hand living under my bed.
Blankets on grass became sinking ships surrounded by ant-sharks and monster fish. Nope not the TV kind.
Books had me and my friends turning innocent adults into mysterious smugglers and murderers.
Hmm, seeing a pattern here with murder, maybe…yeah, no that’s too silly.
What’s that phrasing about growing up and putting childish things away? Could it be that books – reading and writing them – are how adults feed their still living childhood imagination. Look at the craze over adult colouring books (yes, I have two).
Hmm..that reminds me…yeah, sorry, it’s time to pla….uhm, yeah… Ahh, forget it, I’m going to dive into a book and play.
See ya.