Remember at the beginning of this year, when I tallied up all the books I read in 2022, how horrified and ashamed I was at that low number? It really stuck in my craw because I just hit that number for 2023, and we still have a lot of year left.
Admittedly, I was going through some shit last year. My grandma died. I lost another toe. I had to go to detox. I was in and out of the hospital a ridiculous amount of time. And then there was the constant fear of homelessness. I'm still kind of surprised we haven't gotten our notice to leave the house.
But 2020 might have been worse. I went through a lot of fucked up shit then, and I still didn't have such a low number of books read that year. What the fuck?
(Well, now that I think on it, I didn't have a job that year, so I did have more time than usual on my hands, and I didn't use it *all* for drinking. Just *most* of it.)
Never again. That's my promise now, and I've made good on it this year.
How many books is that? A few people asked me that in January, and I didn't want to answer them because I was ashamed of that low number, but I guess I'll state it now for the record.
That number of books is . . .
Whoo-boy. This is tough. Maybe I should have a Wild Turkey 101 straight up for enough courage to say this.
Okay, here we go. I only read . . .
*blows out air* Is this really that hard? I guess so. Fuck. Let's rush through it.
I ONLY READ FORTY-FUCKING-FOUR BOOKS LAST YEAR.
There, I said it. Now you know why I could barely look myself in the mirror a few months back. I have never in my entire life read less than 100 books in any given year (discounting, of course, the three years I could not read or read well).
So I'm still a little behind. If the trend continues, I expect to hit 98 books by December 31. So I have to pick up the pace.
Wish me luck.
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