confessions of a binge reader

I think everyone goes through parts of their life where they feel generally unhappy in how things are going and while the small few manage to make constructive changes, most will deal with the stress by doing something to block it out. They will turn to alcohol, drugs or food (or maybe all of the above) just to avoid thinking about things or dealing with emotions. I should know as I spent most of my late teens and twenties getting very drunk and eating all my feelings (sometimes they were delicious). Lately I have been feeling meh and generally quite unhappy with many aspects of my life but I am not making big life changes to remedy this feeling (although maybe I should) or getting very drunk or even eating all the chocolate that I really really want to eat. No, instead my chosen form of escape is books and then more books and a few more books after that. 

Admittedly it is not detrimental to my health although I can't say the same for my social life. After work I feel drained and fed up so I lose myself in a book and as soon as one book finishes I am already reaching for the next. I will say it's certainly a lot easier on my liver but not exactly productive in terms of changing things. I am not saying it's not good to read because it is and I think reading is like travelling, in that it broadens your mind but all from the comfort of your couch. Unless of course you are primarily reading lady porn in which case you might not find your mind broadening at all. I am not of the belief that I should take a break from reading, I think my heart might have skipped a beat just thinking that. I do, however feel that I might be doing it excessively. I have read four books since Wednesday and I'm about a third into my fifth book. On Thursday morning I was almost late for the gym, again because I was so intent on finishing a book. Eventually I had to give up and throw the book in my bag. I was so keen to finish said book that I actually took it out and read it while recuperating from my workout at the end of class. That afternoon I started another (small book) and had finished it before going to bed. 

Today, I am three books into my reading streak. I had to tear myself away from a book this morning so I could actually make it to work on time and had it finished 5 minutes into my lunch. I came prepared and started another one immediately but it proved to be so gruesome that I returned it and instead got some thing much much lighter to counteract it. The reading streak continues. I am lost in other worlds, in other peoples problems, immersed in lives that are not my own. Only occasionally appearing for air, for sleep, to acknowledge my boyfriend and watch a show like I promised we would. 

I know I should ease off and instead give meditation another try or work out what's got me feeling so unhappy and start fixing that but those are the hard solutions to my problems. Sometimes I promise myself that I will sit down and work all of this out but only once I have finished one more chapter, one more page, just a little bit more of the book and suddenly it's so important that I find out what turn the story will take that I have already the broken promises I'd made. I'm sure soon I will take my head out of a book and properly survey my world but I also know today will not be that day and neither will tomorrow (probably)