I’ve got a healthy penchant for wanting to read things, which I indulge through impulse buying. This means that for a good time now I’ve had a backlog of books I’ve been meaning to get around to. If I had a pile of them on my desk, that would be one thing. But no, what I have are four piles, with what must be at least ten thousand pages between them. Possibly many more. And with my current schedule of work, workouts, and socializing I’m lucky if I can get through fifty pages a day.
Yet if those physical books were all I was dealing with, I would still consider my page debt somewhat within reason. However if you look at my phone notes you’ll find another list of books I intend to purchase once I’ve gotten through the ones looming over me as I type this. Plus, as was clearly necessary to get into this situation in the first place, I have a habit of picking up whatever strikes my fancy. So while I finished Blood Meridian on the way back from San Francisco, I also bought the considerably longer The Golem and the Jinni when I stopped by Booksmith (a crazy cool little shop on Haight street where you can still find signed copies of The Ocean at the End of the Lane. Go purchase them. I might have done so myself, but I already have seven. As in, seven signed copies. Yes I am that bad, even though five are for other people). Like an irresponsible student loan, my page debt only grows deeper.
AH, but then we must consider that I’m no mere bibliophile. My media appetite is all consuming, so if you’ll explore my computer’s hard drive and some of my shelf you’ll find several hundred issues of comic books I intend to read. These go by faster, but I’ve managed to pick up so many that we’re still looking at many, many hours to get through it all. And naturally, there are comics I also wish to get around to and who am I kidding before I sat down to type this I got an Amazon shipment containing Alan Moore’s Promethea and Grant Morrison’s Flex Mentallo. Wonderful.
But wait, of course there’s more. Television, you see, is a great love of mine. I’m currently making my way through Freaks and Geeks by my lonesome, while group watching Hannibal and introducing friends to Veronica Mars. Plus there’s the so-far-fairly-shit final season of Dexter, and when all this is done, wouldn’t you know it, there’s a note on my phone titled “Necessary TV shows I haven’t seen”, containing the names of eight series or—and I’ve just done the math on this one—roughly 380 episodes, give or take a day or two of my life.
I also watch movies.
I’m aware this isn’t really something to complain about, and in fact I should be celebrating. I love this stuff. I’m going to have a great time experiencing all of these stories, and won’t regret a bit of it.
But wow, there’s a lot out there. And being anything close to well-versed in the culture I thrive on is no small commitment. Between this, a summer job, and my dependency on hanging out with friends, I’m sad to say my own writing has fallen catastrophically by the wayside these past few weeks. I know it’s something I’ll be correcting (huzzah to a comfortable fall schedule made up of creative writing classes), but for now I’m just tallying up all I have to get through and asking myself: Why the hell am I even taking the time to blog about it?
EDIT: I actually wrote this whole thing and somehow forgot about video games. *sigh*, yeah, those too. The Last of Us, Borderlands 2, Deadly Premonition, Hotline Miami, Thomas was Alone, and The Walking Dead: 400 Days. Let’s just call that around a hundred additional hours? I don’t know, I’m trying to do all of the side missions in BL2 and it’s taking a (very fun) eternity. Haven’t played it in months, though.