I read because I love words.
But when I read, I get sucked in and forget about the words.
I read because I’m tired of talking to people.
But when I read, I end up talking to people about it.
I read because it relaxes me.
But when I read, I get excited.
I read because it helps me forget my cares.
But when I read, I start caring about a whole new batch of people.
I read because stories let me escape the world.
But when I read, I learn more about the world.
I read to forget that I’m going to die and so will everything else.
But death happens in books sometimes, too.
I read to be happy.
But books can make me sad.
I read because I love it.
But I don’t know why.

They say it’s not good “sleep hygiene” to read in bed. Your bed should be just for sleeping and, you know — baum-chicka-baum-baum! That way you associate your bed with sleeping (and/or sex) and sleep (or make whoopie) better.

(I added the stuff about making better whoopie, but by the law of associations, it makes sense, right?)

Problem is, I love reading in bed! I can’t give it up. No way.