Tomorrow I go back to work full time. My last full day of work was November 29th. I worked half days from home last week and went in for a half day on Tuesday to pick up some papers and empty my mailbox (overflowing). The work from home part was pretty good, mostly because I spent it clearing out and responding to the 700+ emails that accumulated while I was out, as well as the 400+ more that accumulated while I was working part time. (I wonder sometimes what office work was like before email — did people get more things done? I feel like email and the expectation of an immediate response are the coupled tyrants who rule my work day.) Aside from vacations, usually a week at a time, it’s the longest I’ve ever been off work. And I liked it, once I was feeling better. Next week, which will likely be quiet as people take off for the holidays or use up their use-or-lose leave, is probably a good week to ease back into things. I hope.
Even working half days, in the last week I’ve read as much or more than I usually do in a month. That is a good thing, you would think, wouldn’t you? But I’m wondering. The last few books I’ve read (mystery, women’s fiction, a holiday anthology) have all been kind of ~meh~ for me. Not bad but not particularly memorable either. Three average books in a row wouldn’t bother me normally, but two of the three were written by authors I whose backlists I’ve enjoyed a great deal. In fact, the holiday anthology is the new Carla Kelly release, and usually anything she writes is a keeper for me.
Am I being too picky? Is having the leisure to read so much more than usual dulling my enjoyment? [That last would be odd, considering that I used to read ~300 books per year and am now averaging 120-150.] Or maybe they just weren’t as appealing to me as Bad Boyfriend, which I re-read and still loved at the beginning of my reading tear.