you discovered you'd borrowed a book to read 2 weeks ago only by checking your library account online which you'd registered for a minute ago to check when the travel guides to Thailand you'd borrowed are due.
Can't be blamed for that, could I? I read more research papers nowadays than fiction; an occupational hazard I have. I'm even afraid to say that I no longer have the patience to plough through the twists and turns of a plot, preferring to skip to the end of the book to find out what happens and then making the decision of whether I want to read the entire book; even then, speedreading becomes my modus operandi. Imagine the look on bookworms/lovers out there, who take their time with each book, savouring every sentence, not wanting to miss out on a clever, witty line! Wonder what happened to my voracious appetite for fiction, when I could devour book after book by the hour, when I'd make visits to the library a faithful affair, a hobby I could name when people asked me what I did during my free time. The Net has since taken over the place of the library; I now plough through online databases instead of bookshelves. Visits to the library are now made with a vested interest, for research and the like, not merely for leisure. Not to say that I could no longer appreciate the fine art of literature; no, give me a good, intriguing book and I won't hesitate to read it. But perhaps my eclectic taste in books change over time, or rather, for the lack of a better word to say, my priorities and outlook in life. Whether or not such ambivalence is good is another question altogether.
Enough of the rambling. I shall now take my time to read the book I'd borrowed before I return it (and the travel guides) to the library tomorrow.
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