Last year I read very little. The year before not that much more. The year before quite a bit. But it came naturally. When I force myself to read, two things happen. Either I cannot, or I cannot enjoy the reading.
So… For how this 2021 is going, seems like I’m reading around 1 book a month. Not at all impressive if I must say so myself. But hey, last year I probably read 2 in the whole year. I’m not super happy about it, but it’s ok. I wanna enjoy what I read, and that is the extend of it. If I was to force it…I don’t know. At the end, I still read.
So… I wrote sort of a poem yesterday. Don’t know if we can really call it poem, but, I’ll copy it here after some relaxing picture:
One or two small
at a time
it doesn’t matter
I don’t care
I can take it slow