"Reading in bed is a self-centered act, immobile, free from ordinary social conventions, invisible to the world, and one that, because it takes place between the sheets, in the realm of lust and sinful idleness, has something of the thrill of things forbidden." -- Alberto Manguel, A History of Reading (page 153)
I honestly did not get much out of my summer course, but I did find that quote in one of the books.
One of my favorite activities is reading in bed. There is rarely a night that goes by where I do not read at least a few pages before going to sleep. In fact, there have been a number of nights where I've had to force myself to put down my book and turn out the light. Then again, there are also days I ignore this piece of logic and stay up reading on a work night far later than I should. I tend to bless my automatic coffee maker the next morning.
In the past, I used to spend at least a few hours every weekend, curled up in bed, reading. During the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college, I remember reading a romance novel (Jude Deveraux's Knight in Shining Armor) my mom suggested. The day was wet and dreary - but the weather provided a nice breeze when the windows were open. My bed was right by the window, so the breeze blew across my legs and the aroma and sound of the rain created the perfect reading atmosphere. After lunch, I curled up against my pillows, cracked open the cover of the book, and started reading. The day grew to night, and I just sat there, flipping the pages, enjoying myself immensely. After finishing the novel, I went downstairs for dinner feeling more relaxed and refreshed than I had in weeks.
Sadly, I've rarely had a day to curl up and read like that since then. I miss my lazy weekend days, I always feel like there is something I should be doing. Maybe I should make a pact with myself to read in bed a bit more often.
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