joy never ending

While I love the feeling of accomplishment in finishing reading a book, if I’m enjoying a read – and, particularly, if I’m enjoying a novel – I tend to look with dread at the swaths of pages disappearing to the left. With each turn, I get closer and closer to running out of story, to no longer feeling the constant tug of the book, away from what I should be doing, begging me to curl up, read a chapter, and then another.

That’s why I’m particularly glad I’ve enjoyed the first hundred pages of Anna Karenina (one of the many classics I somehow missed in my years of education). With literally hundreds and hundreds of pages yet to go, I have days of reading left before the fear of running out taints purely enjoying the unfolding narrative.

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timeless

Despite my earlier belief that I’d be back in New York for a (reasonably) extended stretch, it appears I’m bound back for Israel (and possibly England) by the middle of next week.

And despite, by now, having become used to travel, to juggling jobs and films and responsibilities, I increasingly feel as though I’m falling slightly further behind with each step. Friends and colleagues have started telling me I look stressed out, tired, and generally on the verge of cracking.

So, at this point, my choices seem to be:

A. Slog through, ever harder, in the hopes of making it to a quieter stretch.
B. Give up completely and retire to a forsaken upland hermitage.
C. Invent a machine to periodically freeze time so I can take advantage of the pauses and catch back up.

Clearly, option C is where I’ll be focusing my energy.

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