Among other things, I've been reading real books recently.

Real books, you ask?

Yep. I put down my kindle (which I adore) and picked up some real books. There's something so wonderful about reading a book, book.

It all started with a Margaret Atwood book that I borrowed from a friend over Christmas break--The Blind Assassin. The thing was, I wasn't able to read it easily with my clunky cast. I couldn't keep the book open and turn pages. This was frustrating to say least but I had my kindle so all was okay-ish.
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Then my cast came off and re-discovered books. Since then I've read the Memory Keeper's Daughter and I am half way into both Night Soldiers by Alan Furst (part of it's set in Bulgaria) and a PD James mystery.

Once I am done with my current mystery novel Atwood here I come.

It's funny when I was younger, sometimes I was embarrassed to admit what I what I was reading if I didn't think it was great literature and worthy of my time. Thirty-something me is much less embarrassed by these things. I  haven't read Thirty Shades of Grey yet and I have no plans to but I no longer feel like I most only read those so-called important books just because they are important.

However I am a <em>little</em> embarrassed to tell you what I'm about to tell you.

I've decided that if I'm reading in bed my kindle is much more convenient. My kindle is less bulky, it's easier to hold and I never have to adjust where I am in in bed or the lamp when I am reading because my kindle is always in the light. Oh and if you fall asleep with your kindle, you never lose your page!

Oh my. What's wrong with me?!

And, you dear readers, are you reading anything interesting these days?