Where, oh where has my reading time gone?

I love to read.  I could read before I started school.  I buy books like a junkie.  I know perfectly well I’ll never catch up with my To Be Read shelves, and I buy more books anyway.  There was a time when I read several a week.  That was before I had a full time job with a long commute.  Before I was writing seriously.  These days by the time I get into bed with a book, I’m already half asleep.

In early February we had a Weather Day.  Not the kind we’re used to here on the Texas Coast (Hurricane Ike springs to mind), but sleet, a little snow here and there, and ice on the freeways.  Just another day in, say, Chicago, but no one in the Houston area knows how to drive on icy roads.  I certainly don’t–I was born in Wisconsin, but I learned to drive in South Florida, and I haven’t lived north of Interstate 10 since.  So I called in afraid-to-drive and had an unexpected Friday off.

And I spent most of it reading.  I sat down on the couch with a thick mystery novel (Sue Grafton’s U Is For Undertow) and read the whole thing.  My Weather Day turned into the most relaxing day off I’d had in ages.  No errands, no chores, no waiting for a repairman or a delivery, just a whole day with a book.

Many years ago, I read a book called Where Were You Last Pluterday?, one of those literary European science fiction novels translated and published by DAW Books, back when all their covers were yellow and numbered.  I remember nothing at all about the plot, just the premise:  the elite of society had access to an extra day of the week, Pluterday.  If I could find just a few Pluter-hours here and there, I would spend them reading.

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