No, I had another sign that I am almost back from that black void I entered after having my first son that sucked most of me away and left a shell of a woman who knew only how to change diapers, make snacks, re-make snacks, and finally look the other way when handing over the goldfish.
Last night I found an old notebook where I used to record every book I read. I started doing this before I was married and my last entry happened right before I went back to work after having my first. If I'd thought to take a picture, I would place it here because it is a glorious thing to behold: pages and pages of titles, words, and tales I read, but then, a cold literary void. What a dark three and a half years it’s been without books! There have been a few, but I don't quite devour three to four books a month anymore. Not only did I have time to read like that, I was rolling in so much free time that I thought a good use of it was recording said books. What a silly, silly girl I was.
Except I’m doing it again.
“Hmmm,” I thought when I saw the blank line under my 2012 entry. “I’ve read two books this month. Would it hurt to write them down?” It didn’t. In fact, it felt like opening the sliding doors of our modern home and stepping into the air-conditioning after being outside for a few minutes in the Dallas heat: refreshing and invigorating with a vague sense of being home.
And now, standing in a bookstore in Midway (another sign I’m coming back; I’m traveling for work and wondering why the hell I don’t work more), I added four new books to my Goodreads line-up. Oh the glory! Oh the words! Oh the pressure to cram in one more book before the month is out. I love it!
I dusted off my abridged dictionary so I can look up all the words I don’t now and my husband can mock my love of books and words just like we are child-free! The return of my inner nerd is another strong indicator of what’s happening here.
So soon; very, soon, I may even begin writing here a bit more. I finished the first draft of my book and want to procrastinate editing and wallow in self-doubt for a bit longer. Perhaps I’ll read a book or 30.