by Emma

I finished MaddAddam in one day. Yes it's that good. No, I haven't had to work all week.  

There was a time in my life - and, yes, it might still be that time, I haven't decided yet - when I thought reading a book in one day was an incredibly valuable thing to do. I used to brag about it: "I read a whole book today!" or "Guess what I did today? Read a whole book!"

I didn't mention the fact that, since I had been lying down for the entirety of the day that my legs had practically atrophied and I could barely walk to the bathroom. And when I did make it to the bathroom, I would bring my book and read it there and wind up sitting for far too long so that big red splotches formed on the backs of my thighs from being suctioned to the porcelain for over an hour.  

This used to be (and probably still is to a certain extent) one of my favorite past times, hearkening back to summer breaks with no job and winter furloughs in college when I had six weeks off and no one else in the state of Washington did.   

And in my mind, it was very different than watching TV all day. Much more intellectual. An exercise for my brain, nurturing my thoughts, feeding my neurons as opposed to dissolving them with a box of light and frivolous acting. 

After nine hours in repose, though, rolling from my back to either side whenever I felt like I was forming bedsores, and bolstering my body with pillows so I wouldn't actually have to use muscles to hold any one position, I had to ask: Is this a valuable way to spend time? 

I question it, but I don't think it will stop me from doing it again. 

Did I mention I got Margaret Atwood's autograph? 


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