I used to read voraciously, but since Bob's diagnosis I just can't seem to focus on a book unless the word AUTISM (yes, in red!) is leaping out from the cover.
I thought I'll pick something to suit my mood...something light-hearted and amusing, whimsical even, but was a bit perplexed to find only weighty, solid tomes of brow-furrowing seriousness;
I pulled a few books out, and here's what I found;
'The Trouble With Physics' by Lee Smollin...as a geekalicious nerd I loved physics at school, but three pages into this supposed layperson's guide I can confidantly conclude that the Trouble With Physics is that it's Really Really Hard.
'The Greatest Show on Earth' by Richard Dawkins (who is one of my heros!) is a wordy book of 400 pages which can be summarised into one sentence. Evolution happened and there is no God. Job done.
'Scarpetta' by Patricia Cornwell, where repressed workaholic Good People (who also happen to be miserable, martyred ex-addicts) use their big sciency brains to catch smelly Bad People who chop Stupid People up.
Actually, that's every Cornwell book.
This isn't counting the volumes of autism books, James's Very Scary nursing books and acres of (the irony of it!) cookery books.
My bookshelf isn't much fun,is it?
My bookshelf seems to have had a personality bypass.
Or maybe it's just me.
It struck me that most of my books seem to be asking some sort of question...is there life after death?, what is the nature of autism?, who chops up feckless eejits beause he has mother issues and feeds them to the dogs?
It occured to me that I spend a lot of time and money pursuing answers that ultimately don't really mean a lot. Even if I one day find them, they will not change my life.
Bob is autistic and I love him the way he is (as I do my elder Toads), and no amount of guide-book devouring will alter that.
When I'm dead I won't really worry about it because I'll be...well...dead.
And Patricia Cornwell needs to get drunk and buy a new pair of shoes.
So, no more wasting time that only results in fruitless, head-banging frustration!
Next week I plan to visit my nearest bookshop and stock up on some juicy bodice-rippers and lots of Marian Keyes.
ChickLit is my new philosophy.