I’m a schizophrenic.
And so am I.
No, really, I am.
When it comes to reading, different people inside me emerge. The stronger personalities throw an elbow at the weaker until there is a resurgence and the weaker fights back.
I am a reader.
I can’t “not read.” If there is nothing handy to read—a pathetic situation I strive constantly to avoid—I will sound out the ingredients of cereal: barley malt extract, trisodium phosphate, riboflavin, calcium carbonate…
The intersection of schizophrenia and reading is illustrated in the answer to the question “Why do you read?”
I read because I like to read.
I read to learn facts. What does the third verse of In the Garden mean?
I read to be entertained. Tell me a story!
I read as a way to love others. Nothing like a kid on a lap with a book…
I read to show love to others. You like Dick Francis? Then I will read him, too.
I read to fulfill obligations. Carol, please read this and let me know what you think.
I read some titles because one is supposed to read them.
I read some titles to say I have read them. Shameless of me to admit it, but true.
I read so I won’t be left behind. The buzz about Unbroken is one instance.
I read to nourish my soul.
I read because I’m bored.
I read because I’m tired.
I read some books to get them off my shelf. I could just remove them, but I want to read them!
I read because someone I admire recommended the book.
I read because someone I’ve never heard of recommended the book.
I read to escape unlovely tasks. A habit begun long ago when I had homework.
I read difficult books because they often reward the effort. Vigorous reading gives me endorphins.
I read to quench my curiosity.
I read to kindle curiosity.
So, gentle reader, why do you read?