I’ve been reading a lot of theory–postmodernism, folklore, Marxist approaches to popular culture–and a lot of it is interesting and enjoyable. But today as I packed my bag for class, I turned to the stack of books and binder of articles to figure out what I wanted to tackle tonight during breaks, and could not bring myself to choose anything.
I needed something else to read today. Something that I could enjoy, something that I wouldn’t be tested on, something that might even make me laugh. I looked at the stack of magazines and considered packing the most recent issue of Lucky Magazine, but it’s so heavy and I didn’t want to cart it all over hither and yon. I thought about last April’s General Conference talks, but I really needed some levity, some fun.
Then I saw it. My old friend. The one book I’ve always been able to rely on for side-splitting laughs, the book that I almost feel self-conscious to read in public because I have a smile plastered on my face. Bridget Jones’ Diary. I haven’t spent time with Bridget in two years. Tonight, in between teaching a piano lesson and going to class, I was able to read about 20 pages, and it really was like a reading sorbet–it cleared out my brain, lightened me up for class and helped me refocus.
I might read a little bit of Bridget (or essays by Laurie Notaro) every day from now until November 3, just to keep me fresh. But first thing tomorrow morning? Chapter 6 of Heritage Crusades.