Lately I’ve been fantasizing about holing up for (at least) two to four days in a quiet, peaceful spot (near the ocean would be absolutely ideal) and reading books.
That used to be one of my favorite things to do as a child, as a teenager, and as a young adult. In fact, I can recall days when I would do nothing but read. It was very relaxing for me.
Now I sneak it in by reading while I’m doing something else. But it’s not the same. Not at all.