I’ve been a reader since second grade. I fell in love with the Little House on the Prairie book series, and when that was done I just kept reading from there. Reading defined me through most of my child, preteen, teen, and adult-hood.

I used to get in trouble as a kid for reading too much. I know that sounds crazy but sometimes I was accused of being antisocial and a bit too sedentary because all I wanted to do was stick my nose in a book and not talk to anybody or interface with people in a lot of circumstances. In elementary school I taught myself how to read in a moving vehicle without getting sick by helping to teach a little girl, a few years younger than me, how to read on the bus home from school. (You must understand that for me, bus rides home in elementary school were like an hour long.) So anytime I was in a car I had a book in my hand if I could. Or headphones on. Or both.

But one thing my anxiety, when it’s bad, has taken from me in part is my ability to read. I mean, I still know how to read, but I just can’t focus AT ALL. I get through a page and realize I have no idea what I just read. So I don’t bother. This comes and goes along with the ebbs and flows of my anxiety and depression.

So whenever Dave sees me reading, it brings him such joy. Personally I worry it’s just being lazy, but to him it’s me finally being more like me again. I got a new Kindle for Christmas and promised myself that with such a nice, and not-inexpensive, gift that I would make more of an effort. But I was still struggling a bit to read very much.

Then last week my doctor tweaked my meds. Not a lot, but I can tell the difference already. I’ve read three books in three days. Nothing heavy AT ALL, just some YA romance and adult “smut”, but hey I wasn’t going for high literature – I’m easing back in. Dave is thrilled. I’m thrilled.

But three books in three days? Thank gods for Kindle Unlimited, lol! 🤣💲💲