A confession

I read too quickly.

I always have. I tend to wolf books down. It’s not a particularly good way to read, just as it isn’t a healthy way to eat. You lose things, important things.

As with any other lifelong trait, I’ve learned to compensate. I often read books several times in a row. The first time deals with the itch of needing to know what happens. The second allows me to absorb the details I may have sped right past. The third time…the third time is entirely for pleasure. If I go back for a third read, that’s a laze on the couch and revel in the words read.

My eyes are getting old along with the rest of me. I can’t read as quickly as I used to, and I have less time to read than I used to, and my reading habits are changing. I still read at a good clip if it’s not just before bed. More and more often though, I’m reading a book just once.

I suspect glasses would change things back for me. I don’t have any. I’ve been to an eye doctor exactly once, and I managed to pass out during the exam, and that makes me both embarrassed and hesitant to go back. But I’d like to be able to read too quickly again. I’d like to have those diligent second and blissful third reads. Even if it isn’t the best way to read, it still feels like the way I read.

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