I'm living my fantasy reading life: I'm an editor, subscribe to the New Yorker and the Sunday New York Times, and use the library to get stacks of children's books. I subscribe to literary journals, am around children who love literature; really, this is my fantasy. But I just can't quite get through it all after editing all day. My new New Yorker arrived yesterday with a hysterical, terrifying cover only to be set on the stack, and Sunday's New York Times sits on my sweet little chaise, unrifled.
Possible Solutions:
1) Quit editing job, become a milkmaid.
2) Go to grad school, have no time to read anything elective ever again.
3) Get bitten by a bookworm, develop super reading powers.
4) Convince editors of the New Yorker to both hire me and put out their fine publication every three weeks instead of two.
5) Get bitten by a vampire, no need for sleep ever again.
6) Give up all media sources, read only the Epic of Gilgamesh.
7) Experiment with immortality.
{Photo via flickr.}
1 maids a-milking:
Same problem here, but add the economist to that pile. I do try to carve out Sunday mornings for the times and Meet The Press though. And of late, I've almost given up on the New Yorker as a whole. I read particular articals when I can. Sigh.
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