Rotting Rainbow

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  The Accelerated Reader program in school really screwed me over.  You guys had this, right?  You know what I’m talking about?

I’ve pretty much always based my behavior off of my acquaintances.  Thankfully, I had some pretty straight-laced friends in high school so instead of imitating underage drinking or toilet papering houses, I imitated going to church and reading books.  I was never a huge reader.  I did enjoy the occasional good book but I never voraciously ripped through the dusty stacks at the local public library.  Yet, I always admired the idea of books and reading.  It seems like reading is a good drug.  It provides that sense of escape but in a healthier manner.  In fact, books might even help you come to terms with what you’re escaping yourself from.  Of course, it doesn’t have to be like that.  Books can just be for entertainment as well.  That’s the beauty of books.  They can encompass a variety of functions, from fun to funneling frustrations into something slightly less scary.  As well as admiring the idea of reading, I’ve also always admired my friends who liked to read.  They always seemed so intelligent and I wanted to be intelligent so I started reading like they did.  Eventually, reading became a pleasure for me.  Being that chubby insecure child that I was, reading was a way for me to put my worries on hold, to run away from my regrets and fall into a world not my own, to experience another type of existence.  I found that aspect of reading to be quite fascinating and addicting.

Then, AR started and reading became a chore.  It’s true, you can enjoy something all day long but as soon as you are forced to do it, it’s simply not that fun anymore.  So, with AR, reading became mandatory and the books that I would usually take time to enjoy became deadline reads that forced me to push an interest in what I was reading, drilling it into my noggin with each new chapter instead of planting a seed of interest and letting it bloom with each new page.  Being forced to care about a character or situation just isn’t as satisfying as when you can just let it happen organically.  Not only were my friends avid readers but quite competitive as well.  They competed to see who could get the most points and were always checking out those huge books that were worth more.  I ended up having to read twice as many small books just to keep up.  Sure, I could have grabbed a large book here or there but most of them just sounded boring and while I was already becoming irritated by the fact that I had to read good books in a rush, I couldn’t imagine being forced to read boring material.  That’s even worse.  So, the once simple joy of reading starting to become an assembly line of books, quizzes, points earned, rinse, repeat.  And that’s on top of the book reading I had to do for my English classes and various chapters in textbooks for other classes.

I was so glad when I was finished with the Accelerated Reader program.  Unfortunately, when I entered high school I came face to face with more forced reading in the form of a Nazi English teacher.  She had a penchant for assigning two and sometimes three books at one time.  Large books.  I had her once in tenth grade and again in twelfth grade and she honestly burned me out on reading.  After I was done with her class, I don’t think I picked up a book for months.  It took a lot of time to get into reading on a voluntary basis again.   

Unfortunately, over the years, I’ve developed quite the case of A.D.D. and I can’t seem to concentrate on books the way I used to.  Also, reading makes me sleepy!  I can sit down in the middle of the day and feel wide awake and three chapters in I’m drooling on the cover.  It’s like, if I’m not spazzing out then I’m zoning out and so reading just isn’t as focused and pleasurable as it used to be for me.  It doesn’t help that the last few books I’ve read weren’t that great.  It just seems like I can’t find a good book.  I don’t really even know what I’d be into at this point.  I’ve never had a specific genre that I’ve enjoyed more than another.  I like it all, really.  It’s just that nothing has really gotten me worked up or too excited lately and it makes me sad.  It makes me even sadder that I’ve found this passion for writing and yet I am not much of a reader.  It doesn’t seem to make much sense.  To read is to learn how to write and reading would probably help me out so much but I can’t find the concentration. 

And poor Reading Rainbow was canceled recently.  I used to love that show.  It seems quite fitting regarding my situation.  It’s like the end of an era.  Without other like-minded, gap-toothed kids enthusiastically recommending their favorite books, how are our little ones supposed to know what to read?  I guess they’ll have to learn about it on the streets.  And where am I supposed to learn about books?  Where am I going to find that passion for reading again?  Where’s the concentration, the motivation, the caffeine?  Maybe I just need to sit outside with a giant cup of coffee and a zombie novel.  Perhaps that will cure me of my reading block.

Has anyone read anything amazing lately?  Any recommendations?