My mom finished reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larson yesterday. She enthusiastically told me this as soon as she came home from work. Her delight reminded me of how I felt when I finally finished Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone after months of toil in the first grade. It was adorable. But after I got over how cute my mom was being, I realized how strange the situation was. I’ve been alive for almost eighteen years, and I’ve never seen my mother read a book. She’s always been too busy, too tired. I, on the other hand, have been an avid reader since I was old enough to hold a book, yet I haven’t read for my own enjoyment in over a year. Now I’m the one who’s too busy and tired.
I’ve been meaning to get back into reading for awhile now. I thought spring break was going to be my time to shine, but I was slapped with the unfortunate (and ultimately useless) task of reading Angela’s Ashes for my English class and never got the chance. Now that it’s summer, I definitely have the time. I’ve just been clueless about what I should read. My local library is useless. That place is only there for old people in need of the latest Nora Roberts novel and kids who want to take part in cutesy events that have nothing to do with reading. I can’t buy new books either. I’ve spent way too much this summer and I’ve only been out for two weeks. My only option is to pick books I already own.
Of course, I immediately gravitated towards Harry Potter. When all else fails, good ol’ Harry P. will always be there. But even though I can plow through those books fairly quickly, I do have three books I need to read for school and college applications to complete. I would hate to fall off track and leave the summer only halfway through the series. Besides, there can be too much of a good thing. I want to reread the series the summer before I head off to college, and I think two summers in a row might be overkill. So I threw that idea out the window.
I searched through my entire bookcase with little success…Until I reached the bottom shelf. There sat the three black, white, and red books I had cast aside many years ago in my wannabe hipster defiance. The Twilight series. I read the first two books when I was in the seventh grade, and I was in love. But after Eclipse, I found myself a little disenchanted. I don’t remember much about the book, but I do remember feeling like the series was losing steam. And then the hysteria broke out over the movies. I completely lost interest. Just hearing the names Edward or Jacob made me cringe slightly, even if they had nothing to do with the characters from the novels. I’ve never even bothered to read Breaking Dawn.
But I can’t lie to myself and say I’ve never enjoyed the series. I obviously did. I wouldn’t own the first three books if I didn’t. The question is, will I still enjoy them as an uber critical seventeen-year-old? Rereading them is the only way to find out, so that’s what I’m going to do. I still haven’t decided if I want to read all of them, or just Twilight. I guess it all depends on how I feel after Twilight. Whatever I decide, you can expect an in-depth, unbiased analysis when I’m finished.
I may even present said analysis in video format.
Do you ever feel like people do certain things just because they feel that’s what they’re supposed to do? That question is rather vague, I know, so let me describe the scenario that prompted this question.
I volunteer at my school’s library during my lunch and study hall period. This year I’m with three seniors. Today, a sophomore (freshmen are in a separate building, so they’re the youngest in my building) came into the library asking for help finding something. After we took care of him, one of my fellow aides said something along the lines of “Ooooh, fresh meat! We should have sent him in the wrong direction just to mess him up!” Seriously? The kid was at most two years younger than us. If I saw him the hallway, I would have no idea what year he was in. Other than the title, not much of a difference exists between the years. Making fun of the “younger” people just seems silly to me. I feel like people do it just because they think that’s how it’s supposed to work. As much as I cherish television, I think it implants stupid ideas like that in our heads.
While I’d like to think I’m innocent, I’m guilty of doing this too. When I was little I would only have the urge to cry after an injury if it was extremely painful. No matter how small the fall, however, I let the waterworks run. Why? Because everyone else did. I was under the impression that, just as sweat helps cool the body, tears somehow heal wounds. I had quite the imagination as a child.
Now I have to wonder – what do I do today merely because I feel like I’m supposed to?
