I feel fairly certain that I am probably one of the only people in a fifty mile radius who has put significant thought in to what I am about to tell you, and let it be know that I have put a great deal of thought into this: A serious reader cannot read in just ANY chair.
I know, I know, you're wondering how one could even have a decent amount of time to read these days, let alone *think* about reading, but I am guilty.
This week I pledged to break back into reading after practically abstaining for over a year, and I have made it through approximately 130 pages of a 900+ book. You may think "wow, that's not bad!" but I would wholeheartedly disagree. I should have been half way through by now, and yet, I've barely made a dent! This completely disturbs me because I have been known to devour a novel in just one day, and granted this book is quite lengthy, but I should still be more ahead than 130 pages in three or four days.
I have come to the conclusion that a serious reader, one who reads to satisfy a passion and thirst for drama, adventure, discovery, and knowledge, one who actively participates as another unnamed, unpinned character in the story, one who lives and breathes every word on the page rather than skims the lines to get to the main point, he or she must have a vessel in which to partake in such a passion!
I need a comfortable chair.
I do, I need a comfortable chair! I can't read laying on my bed, because even for all the amazingness of the literature that I read, I am still susceptible to Mister Sandman. I have tried to lay out on the couch and veg out, but between the lack of cushion and the fact that none of the lights in the room seem to catch any of the words on my page, I am at a loss.
I need a big, fluffy princess chair that allows me to wrap my legs up under me with arms long enough to balance my coffee mug on it. My crocheted wispy blanket will hang on the back until it gets too cool and I need to warm my feet. Yep, that'll be the life.
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