I don’t know, man. I just don’t know when I’m gonna finish that book. Don’t get me wrong — I love it so far. I’ve been taking it with me everywhere I go, in the hope that I’ll have a few minutes here or there to read a few more pages, but it’s been well over a week since I last managed to read more than a few paragraphs at a time.

I mean, I work during the day, and whatever spare time I have I end up spending on my computer — reading email, browsing the web, working on any of several various web sites, etc. This is pretty much what I do when I’m at home, too. I turn on the TV, get out the laptop, and the rest of the evening is an exercise in divided attention between two glowing screens . . .

And the evenings when I go out instead of going home (most evenings, that is), my attention is engaged by a neverending series of still more glowing screens. After all, I managed to watch 220 individual movies in theaters last year (not counting multiple viewings of the same movie, of which there were several, and not counting movies seen on a TV). I always drag with me whatever book I’m currently reading, but the few minutes between the time you take your seat and the time that the pre-preview ads start playing isn’t an ideal stretch of time for making any kind of serious bibliophiliacal progress. Neither is the stretch of time between ordering food and receiving it.

I guess I really never plan to get reading done. It’s something that happens when there’s nothing else going on. I should really just plan to spend more time reading at home — “kill my television,” as they say, at least for a few hours, and pull out the parchment. But I’ve never really been the kind of person that makes plans . . .