We are now in the “ber” months -September, October, November, December, aka the last quarter of the year. My Goodreads goal for the year is forty books. I have read eighteen. Goodreads kindly reminded me that such a number means I am eleven books behind schedule. That’s disheartening. Not impossible, but disheartening.

Trigger warning: discussion of homelessness (past) beneath the image.

A lack of interest in reading was the red flag needed to talk to my doctor about this particular flavor of depression and got me into the hands of Wonderful Therapist. WT had some excellent insights about the lack-of-reading thing. Did I use reading as a distraction during our vagabond year? My brain immediately flashed back to finishing Deposing Nathan by Zack Smedley in the parking lot where we were then camped, Storm in her carrier next to me, as the other adults were at their jobs and my job was to guard the car and our stuff. Fabulous young adult novel, which I highly recommend, and it’s a landmark in this whole reading thing.

I also think about reading fast during the daytime when we were camped, because night would be long and light would not be in great supply. When we were in a room or Housemate’s Mom’s house, of course, I could read any time I wanted, and I did. I couldn’t have my books with me, and while I will always appreciate the library system and my Kindle, the relationship between a reader and their keepers is a special one. Mine are still in storage, safe, but at the back of the unit, so I kind of wave at them when we make a drive-by visit. Soon, hopefully, soon. Even with the Kindle, reading at night, I had to gauge the battery because if we were camped, there was only one time to charge it during the day and that charge had to last.

So, there’s stuff. Wonderful Therapist is helping me unpack it, which is good, and it is happening. It’s coming along. Slowly. I didn’t expect to be this far behind. I don’t want to move the goalposts yet, but if I’m not closer to on track by the end of October, then I will. i don’t want a smaller “body count” for my books this year, but A) nobody cares, and B ) healing happens on its own time.

I know there are things that work. Vintage historical romance. Blindly stumbling around in the figurative dark to cobble together the kind of reading journal that works for me. Right now, that is a traveler’s notebook insert where I can make notes as I read, and a different book where I print out covers of books I plan to read, all top-tier favorites. The extrovert trait of “it’s not real unless I can talk about it” is true for me in this case. It’s annoying, and the only way out is through.

Vintage paperbacks are where I gravitate most these days. I have been poking eBooks with a stick, but they are not sticking (that will change) and audiobooks, which my brain says, “no thank you” at this moment. That also will change, especially as I have a twelve-book series (two six book series that go together) in my sights to start maybe soon, my umpteenth read of these books. I do not know why my brain has these format preferences, but she’s a tricky one, so I am not going to ask. One thing at a time.

All in all, I am not upset by the current situation, reading-wise. More like “yes, that checks out. That’s to be expected. It will come back.” It will. I find my current relationship with reading to be at an interesting point. Accepting it for what it is takes a lot of the reading-related anxiety and pressure away. Since talking about it is a good thing, that will happen here more often. I am looking forward to that.

How is you relationship with reading at present?