weekend writing and

The pressure to do a ton in sunny springtime is a bit exhausting to my introverted soul. As a caregiver and a recent recluse (recovering from burnout), I find myself waiting for the day's chores/academics to be over so that I can sit with my books and journals well into the evening. 

I should work on better sleep habits right now (mid-life sleep changes are quiet interesting), but I have been finding myself desperate for quiet and the world is coming alive. Lots of neighbors having bbqs, family gatherings, etc. I yearn for quiet days.

typical morning stack

I write out my book list in this tiny hardback journal, it helps me to keep up with the titles of what I am reading. I keep a few going digitally (and it's easier to lose track), and my physical books. I don't attempt to finish them within a certain time frame, but I want to focus more on a few books so I may make a page count system for the next month or so.

Reviewing my list of novels I want to read this year I am reminded that there are a few reads and re-reads that I have planned on my list, and I am being called by Dostoevsky lately. His works just speak to a certain part of my psyche that other works don't reach as much. Victor Hugo also has the ability to do so.

I have read a lot of disability activism non-fiction this year, and aside from making me aggressively upset, I have learned so much. I have to temper this with deep fictional work otherwise I feel emotionally drained and ready to disassociate from the world. 

vegan creamer + hot coffee

I'll continue to let the hot days of springtime roll in as I settle into a rhythm with my novels and social science non-fiction. I will ignore the claw of FOMO while watching book vlogs filled with festivals, etc. I will honor this season of my life. 

If you're also wanting to sink deeply into literature and think that autumn is the only time you can, I urge you to renegotiate your relationship with spring. 

Happy reading ☕️