So, if we are what we eat, does it also stand to reason that we are what we read? The way I see it, they are both ingested - food and literature - and each an art form in their own way. I've never been much of a foodie. I eat to live, not the other way around. What if, by chance, we read a little too much? I mean, is there really such a thing? My appetite for books is a lot like that infamous pit with no bottom. Each meal leaves me wanting more. Perhaps one day you'll find me on a reality TV show for over-readers. Some perky/annoying hostess will be snarling at me to "Drop that novel and give me five." Hey, lady - don't you know? There's no crying in baseball and no calories in rEATing.
Being a book glutton is easy, too. It's instant gratification. You'll never be required to stand in a sweaty buffet line with fork in hand. These days you can download, upload, or order up whatever your heart desires from the comfort of your home while simultaneously munching on a pizza, or maybe a little something sweet like a sleeve of chocolate chip cookie dough.
My taste varies but it never wavers. It's like they say, "Once a reader, always a reader." I've been knocking back my fair share of YA fiction lately, with a side dish of memoir.
Once I finish that off I'll be staring down the business end of a best-seller, a la Stockett style.
I know I'm not the only one with this affliction. You have it too, don't you? I can see you out there with your fully loaded Kindles. You skipped breakfast but you devoured the first chapter of something Grisham on the train, didn't ya? The first step to recovery is admitting there's a problem.
But wait. I don't want to get over this. I'm perfectly content with this addiction. There'll be no intervention for this girl.
The show is over, folks. Thanks for your concern. Now move along.