leisure time

I picked up a novel that looked interesting at the library last week. By checking it out (instead of the usual stack of board books or parenting tomes or cookbooks) I dared myself to try to find a moment in which I might lose myself in it. That is the problem of late. Novels require a little investment. You can't simply scan a few paragraphs on the toilet, or read a few snippets here & there. You must inhabit a novel & for those moments during which you are living in that other world you must be able to forget your own, at least in part. And it is impossible to forget a world in which a baby babbles & toddles & cries.

But I have managed it for the last few evenings, late night be damned, and there is something so amazing about the language of good fiction I swear to myself to will figure out how to read more of it...