Now that I’ve done, I am left with a void of literature to fill. This was once dominated by what I was prescribed to read on various modules, and often that didn’t leave a lot of time to read for pleasure. And the time it did leave, I preferred to do something else (like see the outdoors…)
Reading at uni did something odd to me – even reading authors like Ballard and McEwan, both of whom I love became somewhat of a chore. Not because I wasn’t enjoying the story, but because I was constantly
flicking forwards and seeing how many pages I had left until I could stop for the night/until the end of the chapter. See my reading was target based.
Now, I’ve finished, and the classic ‘grass is always greener’ lark really comes into it’s own. In some ways, I crave the regularity of having a book or three to read a week: I was literally overwhelmed by so much unread choice on my shelves that I picked one at random. Now obviously, that’s a little bit biased because I picked them all to be there in the first place. But even so, I found the scale quite intimidating.
I think it’s going to take me a little time to adjust to the freedom, but I’m looking forward to introducing pleasure reading sessions to my weekends and evenings!