Loosing appetite on books

Yesterday I finally reached the end of Junot Diaz’s The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Woo

(mind you most of the novels we have at home bought by my husband who has his own rules when it comes to choosing books. Tuesdays with Morrie by I-don’t-know-who, the narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket by Edgar Allan Poe, and a short list of books that I read only the first few pages)

I read Junot’s due to my curiosity on the book that is said as a winner of the Pulitzer Prize. Well, it’s quite entertaining… however my last book before Junot’s was a John Grisham’s (The Appeal) and it was way more interesting. Before Grisham’s, I struggle to finish the Paulo Coelho’s Valkyries (a real odd one)

During the process, I noticed two things. It took me more and more time to finish reading a book compared to my teen age. Is it a sign of aging or simply I lost interest. The second thing, I tend to feel it was a waste of time. A book with hundred pages took a while to read, and reading made me abandon my homeworks and worse yet, the kids. No more bedtime story because mommy was busy with her book. While it was somewhat (but not always) entertaining, I did not get any other benefit from this activity, no new knowledge whatsoever – or if there was, it is categorized as unimportant.

Or perhaps, things are quite different in older age, that’s all I can say.