I am a reader.
I read. A lot.
Not heavy literature, but mainstream fiction. Detective novels, suspense, police procedurals, chick-lit and general fiction.
I don’t read to learn because I do that all day long. I read to relax, to unwind, and to take my mind off my own problems.
I was reading Dog Crazy by Meg Donohue last night and I burst into tears, which rarely happens to me when I’m reading.
Because of this:
Falling in love again is difficult – it’s nearly impossible not to think of how it will end. Sometimes it feels like there’s so much to lose that it’s hard to remember how much there is to gain.
Pretty much bang on for me. My personal life is such a mess, and I don’t know if I even want to go through the the trouble of meeting someone, getting to know them, getting to know their friends, their family, only to have it end in a year or two, or even six months.
Is it really worth it?