Who would’ve thought that reading 52 books in a year was ambitious? Apparently everyone in The Twelve group. I sure thought it could be done. Especially since I had been reading a new book every four or five days. But apparently the six weddings I went to this year (a grouping of events called Weddingocalypse) drained me. At least, that’s where I’ve decided to place the blame.

Weddingocalypse had more than one casualty, none a living being mind you. One of these casualties was my new good habit of reading. Totally went out the door. Just flew the coop, pulled a disappearing act, and any other departure related cliches you can think of.  I was really hoping I would actually do it right and get it done.  But I think, well no, I know I overextended myself.  And so that just did not happen.  It’s so embarrassing that I barely even got halfway through (though I think I might get to the halfway point by the end of the year).  Or maybe it’s my commitment issues (“Hi, I’m Ms. IstartsprojectsIneverfinish.  Nice to meet you”).

Otherwise, if I’m feeling lazy, which I most likely will, I’ll give myself the goal of reading 10 unread books off my shelf.  Or maybe 5 unread books and 5 from the NY Times 100 must read list.  And if I can’t complete that, then I’ll know that I really have issues.