Getting stuff done

To the right, it says I’m currently reading The Cheese Monkeys by Chip Kidd.

I’m not.

That’s simply the book I’m planning on reading, when I finally start reading books again.

Instead, I’ve been catching up on the last two issues of Atlantic Magazine, wondering what happened to Paste’s print issues, and generally lamenting the slow death of my reading habits.

It happened with Sierra, too. It’s just that, this time, it seems even more drastic. And, what’s more, I don’t give it a passing thought.

So it’s probably more healthy, actually. Instead of obsessing about not reading (and, therefore, not writing a monthly What I’ve Been Reading column) I can simply get things done.

Which is what I do now. I pick up houses. I play around with pictures. I watch network television. I read magazines.

I admire my oldest daughter’s ability to take major changes in stride, accepting a new house and a new brother without a passing thought, embracing both of them with gusto. I respect my wife’s drive to keep working on house projects while I’m at work, despite having two children at her feet. And I marvel at the prospect of my newborn son, wondering all along what kind of person he’ll grow up to be, discovering a new piece of his personality every day.

But I don’t read books. Not anymore. At least, not for a little while. And I’m okay with that.

Just cut me some slack if you still see that same book listed a few months from now.