Have you ever had one of those feel-good days where you did almost nothing but read all day long? I am talking about a physical book that you can hold in your hands and smell. You first open the book even before the sun rises and then it is there in your hands all day and you do not close the book until you finish it just in time to go to bed for the night. It is an entire day spent in a relationship with a book.
I recently had one of those kinds of day. It was splendiferous. I read an entire 567 page book in one day. Sadly, I have not done this in a long time.
When I was a young whippersnapper I did this all the time; usually at least two or three times a week, more if on vacation, or unemployed. Once I experienced eighteen of these kinds of day in a row. Several of my birthdays have been spent having this kind of day. That is how profoundly exhilarating they are. They were the days I looked forward to.
But now that I am an old fart those kinds of days are few and far between. I blame the internet. The internet is easy to blame. But there is plenty of blame to go around. For instance, I blame my writing. I spend a significant chunk of time writing every single freaking day. That makes it impossible to have one of those enchanting book days.
