My life went kablooey and then the country went kablooey. I went from "What the hell am I going to do now?" to "What in the actual hell?"
So, I read one book last month. My husband (recently estranged) had asked for the apartment back after two months of separation wherein he lived on other people's couches. And so I went to live with a friend in the valley, who is a miraculous human being, and put me up for the whole month in an actual guest bedroom with a door and a window and a closet and bed. And a cat even. I mean, this is a quality friend.
I have spent the past three months in a semi-fugue state, where eating and sleeping were either too much or none, not one invoice I issued at my day job was correct the first time, and I had no attention span or ability to focus at all. Reading was not. Only podcasts. Except one book, which was Lena Dunham's Not That Kind of Girl. My host with the guest room and cat also is a writer and he has a fantastic library. And I chose this garbage from his shelves. But it works, because it was basically the book equivalent of junk food that you feel gross for eating and doesn't even taste good, which kind of makes sense given my situation. (note: I am a fan of her show, still, even after reading her dumb book.)
Hope you all are finding your way to the end of this year with books in hand. Let's read as much as we can before they start burning them.