I can’t remember when I started reading. It seems like I’ve always had this habit, although there must have been pre-literature days in my past.

When it first started, it just seemed like a recreational thing.

The books were short and didn’t take much time – Frog And Toad Are Friends, Millions Of Cats, The Velveteen Rabbit, Mike Mulligan And His Steam Shovel – that kind of thing.

Then I started getting into harder stuff:

• Charlotte’s Web
• The Witches
• The Phantom Tollbooth
• A Wrinkle In Time
• Black  Beauty
• White Fang

By the time I was 12 years old, the habit was worsening.

• Watership Down
• My Family And Other Animals
• If Only They Could Talk
• The Sword In The Stone
• Jurassic Park
• Beautiful Joe
• To Kill A Mockingbird
• Animal Farm

I knew that I read more than a lot of people I knew, but I didn’t think I was that unusual. I just happened to know a lot of non-readers.

It wasn’t until University that people began to broach the subject with me.

“Pride and Prejudice? What class is that for?”

“Um… it isn’t for class. I just like it.”

“You’re reading FOR FUN? Where do you find the time? I haven’t read for pleasure in months.”

Considering that this sort of conversation would take place IN CLASS, usually in the few minutes between the doors opening and the professor getting started, the question “where do you find the time?” seemed fairly self-explanatory.

I carried a book on me at all times. I read over meals. I read while walking to class. The occasional bumping-into-a-tree incident didn’t really seem to break the habit. I read between classes. I read in the greenroom between scenes of whatever play I was in. I read in the evenings, between writing papers. I read in the bath. Finally, I read in bed at night.

I should have known then that I had a problem. But, see, I knew that while I certainly read more than a lot of people I knew, it wasn’t a PROBLEM. It didn’t interfere with my life. I could function just fine.

Sure, my boyfriend at the time sometimes complained when he discovered that I hadn’t heard a word of his last 5 minute ramble because I was “listening to the people in my book”.

And yes, he sometimes complained that I spent too much time with my books and not enough watching TV with him. But I dismissed such complaints out of hand.

Our mutual love of reading brought PH and myself together. Originally just a fellow cast member in several plays, we went out for drinks a couple of times and found ourselves deep in discussions about whether or not Who Is Bugs Potter? was a better Gordon Korman than I Want To Go Home! or whether the world a fiction author creates constitutes the “truth”, and therefore, when a book such as Wide Sargasso Sea contradict the original book, whether they are “lying”.

But while PH is certainly a reader, I’m beginning to be aware that he doesn’t seem to have the same… difficulties with it that I do.

Reading really IS becoming a problem.

Just like in University days, I still read in every spare moment. I read over meals, unless PH is trying to engage me in conversation. I read in the bathroom. I read while running Owl’s bath. I read while nursing Owl to sleep at night. I read while Owl plays. When Owl wants me to play with him, I read to Owl. I read in bed.

Despite the fact that, word for word, PH is a much faster reader than I am, I blast through books at probably triple his speed. The books on my bedside table pile up in precarious towers, a visual tribute to my literary gluttony.

I’m beginning to realize that I don’t find time for reading in my life – I find time for life in my reading.

And I’m not doing that very well.

I think I use books as a way to hide from life. They are no longer recreational. They are like AIR.

At what point does it become a problem?

Should I really be spending so much time burying my head in the sand of a story?

How many hours of my day are eaten up by my ducking into my literary universe?

How much of the dirt in my house would be vanquished if I spent half as much time cleaning as I do reading?

How much exercise am I missing out on by curling up with a book instead of going for a walk? (Hell, when I was pregnant and spending all my time in the pool, I started reading IN THE POOL too)

Is it healthy that I consider the things I need to do in life – get up, walk the dog, CARE FOR MY CHILD, as mere interruptions?

Would I have been more alert, more rested, at my job if I hadn’t spent so many nights reading late?

I may also be passing my obsession down to the next generation

Sometimes I think that I should try to give up reading.

Think of the hours gained!

But I find the thought of going through life without books to hide in to be a frightening future.

Would I want such a barren life?

Besides, I NEED books. I really don’t sleep well without a book to read at night. I need to settle down in my warm bed with my blankets and something to drink and shed the detritus of my day by entering a book for a while.

Unfortunately, if it’s a new book and not one I’ve read a (figuratively) million times I also end up staying awake late into the night. So I need them to sleep, but they also rob me of sleep at times.

I could try to swear off books outside of bed time, but that seems like a plan that would backfire. If I knew that I wouldn’t get to open my book again for 24 hours, how much harder would it be to close the book and turn off the light?

My friend The Farm Fairy suggested getting a timer, but I have a feeling that I still lack the self control to stop myself when the timer dings. It’s hard to explain how out of control I feel when it comes to reading. I think that my inability to control my book habit is as bad or worse than my emotional eating problems.

At least I admit that I have a problem.

What I’m not sure about is how to deal with it.

Enabler #1

Enabler #2

BEHOLD OUR LINEN CLOSET:

IT'S SO TIDY

BEHOLD WHAT WAS THROWN AWAY/DUMPED AT VALUE VILLAGE:

to PH's disappointment, I decided against donating the cat.

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Now we just need to repeat this with every room and closet in the house.

…

…

Fun.

And no, Beloved Dog doesn’t knock over Owl at any point.

Perhaps it is typical of us that we are turning such a non-issue into an issue.

Reasons why Owl’s care should be a non-issue:

1. Daycare Lady was the first person I called when I got The Infamous Email, because I was shaking and upset and Owl was clinging to me and going “maaaaamaaaaaaaaaaa” and I have never been so close to putting him through a wall as I felt at that moment. So she said to bring him right away, of course, and please, not to worry – that no matter what, Owl would never lose his spot with her.

2. When PH and I came to pick Owl up at the end of that day, she spent fifteen minutes trying to persuade PH that we didn’t need to pay her while I was out of work. That she would not charge us until I found a job again. PH of course refused to consider that.

3. Daycare Lady and her older daughter (who has been known to CRY on weekends because she missed Owl) both pleaded with us to continue bringing him. PH and I assurred them that we would, because has developed an attachment to them (he now calls Daycare Lady by name and has invented a sign for her, which is tapping his chin for some reason) and we wouldn’t want to yank them out of his life like that. They basically responded with “yes, please, please don’t take him away from us.”

4. When I picked Owl up after my interview on Thursday, Daycare Lady again tried to convince me to accept Owl’s care for free while I searched for work: “Carol, I know how men are, they are stubborn about money and their pride causes problems, but Carol, please believe me when I say that I want you to keep bringing Owl and I don’t want to charge you. This can just be between you and me. Don’t try to give me money for this. I want you to bring him.” When I said that maybe we could “figure something out”, like taking Owl down to part time, she insisted again and again “Carol, please. You are like me – your family lives far away. Owl is like my family now. Please. I want you to think of us as your family. Please, bring Owl tomorrow. Bring him every day. We want to see him. When you get work again, then you can pay again, but until then, I feel it is wrong to charge you.”

5. It is undeniable that Owl would prefer to continue going. How PH and I ended up with such a little extrovert, we have no idea, but there is no arguing his extroversion. He hates being housebound. On the day that I kept him home, between The Day Of Infamy and the job interview, he kept bringing me his boots and signing “coat”, and then, if that didn’t work, he’d haul MY boots over to me. Despite the fact that it was freezing cold outside, he loved walking in the snow because HE LOVES A CHALLENGE. He just wanted to be out, out, out. We took three walks that day, one of which was all the way to The Esso, which is a half a kilometre away. Yes, HE WALKED all the way there. In the snow. Tiny step by tiny step. He wanted to walk back, too, but I carried him for time reasons.

So, to sum up:

• Owl loves daycare.
• Owl’s daycare loves him.
• It won’t cost us money.
• It would make people sad to actually refuse.

 So where’s the problem?

Well, seriously, how do you accept something like that from someone? At what point does it just become taking advantage of someone’s generosity?

It didn’t help that when PH dropped Owl at daycare today, intending to reopen the “please let us pay you” conversation, Daycare Lady met him at the door with a heaping plate of food for us – rice with some kind of lamb curry on top – lest we grow faint in our house-cleansing efforts.

At what point does it become too much? How can we get her to accept our money? 

For the last couple of years, PH has taken a week of vacation around my birthday. This year he is using it to help purge the house as per my birthday wish. But last night we handed Owl off to some friends so he could go enjoy Chinese New Year, and he took me off to a movie.

Except the movie theatre was actually a playhouse.

And the movie wasn’t a movie.

IT WAS THE MYTHBUSTERS TOUR.

Which means that I got to see Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman FOR REAL IN THE FLESH.

They shot arrows and made explosions and took videos with their high speed cameras RIGHT IN FRONT OF US.

All worthy geeks out there can begin their envy of me starting… now.

Perfect Husband: “Carol, why are there two waffles in the garbage?”

Me: “I made them and then realized we were out of butter.”

Perfect Husband: “So you THREW THEM AWAY?”

Me: “Yes.”

Perfect Husband: “Because waffles with syrup BUT NO BUTTER are inedible?”

Me: “Yep. The butter is a vital component of waffle eating.”

Perfect Husband: “How can you waste food like that?”

Me: “Would you eat something you didn’t want rather than just throw it away?”

Perfect Husband: “Yes!! I can’t just THROW FOOD AWAY.”

Me: “Why would I eat a high calorie fattening meal if I wouldn’t even enjoy it? Either way it’s a waste.”

Perfect Husband: “You and I are, in some ways, very different people.”

Yesterday:

Perfect Husband: “So, while you were at your friend’s house for dinner, I decided to eat hot dogs.”

Me: “Oh?”

Perfect Husband: “So I defrosted two hot dog buns. Then I took out the wieners, and I realized that they were two weeks expired. So I took out the OTHER wieners, and found that they were a month expired. So I took out the OTHER OTHER wieners, and they were TWO MONTHS expired.”

Me: “I’m sorry.”

Perfect Husband: “…So I THREW THE BUNS AWAY.”

Me: “…But why not just put the buns back?”

Perfect Husband: Because I’d already toasted them and put cheese on them.”

A moment of silence.

Perfect Husband: “…I HAVE BEEN HOISTED WITH MY OWN PETARD.”

Me: “I love you.”

• Aced some of the questions. My favourite was along the lines of “what makes you think that you will be able to make objective decisions about animals you have taken care of” – UHHH, I trained SERVICE DOGS! Gave them a heart wrenching story about a dog who became my constant companion for months on end, who I released from the program, adopted out to a good home, and haven’t seen since. Thanks to Rebecca’s comments in my last post, I knew to follow it up by saying how good I felt about this decision.
• Quote from interviewer: “Actually, I worked at that same veterinary clinic for 10 years so I know how hard he is to work with.”
• Pay is 22 bucks an hour, plus 15% vacation, and it’s a union job.

Cons:

• Will be very little chance to walk/train the dogs, and a lot of poop scraping.
• It’s an auxiliary position, so I’d basically be a back-up. I’d be working full time some weeks, and NOT AT ALL other weeks. No amount of hours are guaranteed. Evenings and weekends are likely.

I have an interview on Thursday.

The religious folk in my life, like my mother and Daycare Lady, are sure this is a sign from God.

I’d almost believe them except for one thing:

It’ll be a behavioral interview.

I have never EVER gotten a job from a behavioral interview. I SUCK at trying to come up with a “time when you and a coworker had a dispute” or at time when “you solved a problem at work.”

PH has tried to help me prepare and ended up practically bashing his head against a wall.

I can’t help it that when someone asks me a question like “tell me about a time when you had to work with a difficult coworker”, a truthful answer would be:

Well, I worked with this vet who was verbally abusive to me. So I just took it like a total doormat until he got sick of working with me and quit!

Somehow, that’s not what they want to hear, but that’s THE TRUTH. And no, that’s not what I say at the interview, but even when I try to come up with a story, I guess it doesn’t fit the question well enough or it just isn’t what they want to hear.

Because they never call back.

I’m terrible at trying to find the right story to fit their question, and PH has identified that I’m absolutely PATHETIC at identifying successes or triumphs in my workplace past.

I also feel that my best qualities are not easily represented in sweet little short stories with happy endings. I’m honest. I’m diligent. I have integrity. I am kind. I defer to my superiors.

But they don’t want stories about that. They want stories that present me as consolidated awesome in scrubs, and I’m awful at it.

I’m so going to fail this interview.

Does anyone have a cheat sheet for me, with the magic answers?

Found it in my inbox this morning. It was actually sent shortly before I left for work yesterday, so I was actually laid off but didn’t know it yet AS I WORKED.

Gist:

Dear Carol,

You don’t work for us any more. We aren’t busy enough to justify employing you, and we don’t value you enough to keep you over someone else.

Love, Boss’s Wife

I was going to have to quit soon anyway, because my hours were getting less and less. But I still feel like a big useless ball of fail.

FAIL.