I remember a couple times I was in the middle of reading a book, curled up in my favorite chair next to the window, with a big cup of tea, when my sister called. She would ask what I was doing and I replied, reading, knowing that she would laugh a little, my answer not surprising in the least.
I read a lot. So what. People need to accept it and move on.
However, there was one time that my excessive reading came into conversation. My sister was asking about my ex-boyfriend, what happened, why I broke it off, etc. I remember telling her something along the lines of being too comfortable, that there wasn’t any passion between us, at least from my side. I remember just simply telling her that something didn’t feel right.
She then asked me, what’s wrong with being comfortable? I wasn’t sure how to answer her. Sure, being comfortable is good, but I guess I expected it to come after the beginning part when there is some level of passion.
She responded with the fact that I need to stop reading, because it’s giving me false ideas about relationships.
For some reason, this conversation and the idea of a fictional story giving me false expectations came into mind tonight. Is it true? Have I let myself get sucked into my books too much? It’s not such an easy answer as if I were talking about romantic comedy movies, because those I know give false expectations. But like any other avid reader, I believe that the book is almost always better.
While part of me slightly believes that I’ve gotten sucked in too much, the other part isn’t so sure. None of the books I read or love are in the primary category of romance. Sure, some of them have a side of it, but it isn’t like any of the men are unrealistic, maybe some of the situations, but not the characters.
Maybe I’m over-thinking this. I tend to over-think a lot.
Or maybe I need to step into reality a little more. Maybe I’ve crossed some kind of line where I’m living too much in the fictional. Is that even possible?
One thing is for sure though: I refuse to stop reading.