Blogger 365 Day 64 - The dichotomy of books

     I got off of work today and stood at the bus stop for what seemed like a longer while than usual, but the sun was shining and since the wind wasn't blowing I didn't have my hands buried in my pockets, instead I was using the time to read some more of the book that I am currently engrossed in.  Despite any sustained reading time on my part (most of my reading time occurs on the bus to and from work) I am close to finishing my book, probably just a couple of chapters to go.  I am sure if I wanted to I could just plow right through them now as opposed to blogging and then add the book to the collection of works that I have read.

     For me there is a sense of accomplishment in finishing a book, I wouldn't call it pride but maybe satisfaction in making it through an entire novel or work of literature.  Perhaps this stems from the enjoyment I get from some books; one of things about school that I didn't was the forced readings of material that I had absolutely no interest in.  I am sure William Shakespeare was a wonderful playwright, and perhaps he was a decent fellow as well, but there are few things in life I would like to read less than a play, and worse, a play that even though it is written in English, sends me looking for some Rosetta stone like tool to decipher what it is that I have just read.  It took what can be an enjoyable mental exercise, reading, and turned it into some form of punishment.  I realize that when teaching a class there has to be some sort of uniformity and everyone reading the same texts is part of the equation, but being forced to read things that are of no interest to me turned many of those books into my own mental Bataan Death March.  Class discussions about those books were equally useless to me, the only thing I was able to take from forced readings was the notion of "well, that sucked.", regardless of how classic the literature in question was supposed to be.  Now when I finish a book it is quite different, because it was something that I chose and (usually) enjoyed.  It's like going to a restaurant and picking what you want off of the menu rather than being forced to eat brussel sprouts at home by your parents.  By the end of the book I feel smarter, my mind is sharper and my mental retention of the material is better probably because I had a vested interest in the topic or material  beforehand. 

     That being said, there is also a downside to reading and that being than any given book is finite, at some point it does end and the story is finished and there is a sense of loss at that prospect.  The mind that was so actively involved in the process, drawing imaginary images to correspond with the words, is forced to let go and there is the small amount of time immediately thereafter where I feel almost like a junkie being forced to go cold turkey because the drug I was hooked on is no longer available, it disappeared with the turning of the last page.  In its place is a sense of emptiness, at least until another comparable drug or book comes along and then the process repeats itself. 

      So I have just a couple of chapters left until another book appears on the shelf to the right of this blog, and I am not sure whether I am happy about that or not.