I still read "in bed" but it isn't as regular as it once was. I blame all those great American tv shows I can't help but follow.
I say American, because most of them are from the U.S, but there's of course Doctor Who, and lately I've followed the daring and dark The Shadow Line on the BBC. It wasn't as "special" as Life on Mars or even Ashes to ashes, but it was a memorable moment of television.
To be fair, there are also movies and music that fill the relaxation/culture moments of my life, but it saddens me a little that tv is eating away the time I could devote to reading, especially in the evenings. Feeling the urge to write essays on certain shows that are so thought-provoking doesn't help of course.
Actually, I blame the Internet for providing both tv shows and places to write down about them!
So the pile of to-read-books keep getting higher and higher. There's for instance the book a colleague gave me last year (!) when I left our school, or Pynchon's Mason & Dixon that I got about at the same time; or The Goldbug Variations by Richard Powers (and it's one of his biggest novels) that I bought months ago; or La fabrique du droit by Bruno Latour or Viktor Vavitch by Boris Jitkov; or the book ( Dino Egger by Eric Chevillard) that I keep in my purse for metro-reading but I rarely find a seat when I am in the subway so I haven't begun to read it yet! And the list goes on...
I finally started reading the last novel by Umberto Eco, Le Cimetière de Prague, yesterday and I'm determined to finish it quickly so I probably won't be online much in the upcoming days.
ETA: I leave you for a little while with this poem, which, contrary to common belief, has not been written by Pablo Neruda.
( Muere lentamente )