reading, and lack thereof

As I was wasting away from The Funk a couple of months ago, trying desperately not to cough up a lung and apparently torquing a rib, which, OUCH, there were brief but glorious periods when I found myself able to read.

The Funk had burrowed its way into my nasal passages and was building a homey little nest in what felt like the space immediately behind and below my eyes. For nearly two weeks, my days were spent squinting at the ceiling, or, when our wireless router was feeling benevolent, at the iPad as it played all 5 seasons of Say Yes to the Dress (which is perhaps the most delightful show ever made, especially to me, the girl who didn't go wedding dress shopping but who would have loved it).

But delightful as that show is, I am more of a reader than a tv watcher and I have something like 130 books languishing in my TBR pile, or more accurately, my TBR shelves. Not to mention the 450 or so on my paperbackswap reminder list and the additional 180 or so on my wish list there. So really, if I'm going to be quarantined and unproductive for two weeks, I at least want to be reading, if at all possible.

The problem is, it wasn't possible. And my up-to-then established habit of voracious reading came to an embarrassingly quick halt.

It has now been 6 weeks or so, and I have managed to make my way through approximately 3 books, one of which was read aloud to me and another of which was a decorating book, heavy on the photos. For some reason, I've had a hard time finding the reading mojo. This is frustrating because now I have both the time and the ability to read, and my incoming-to-outgoing books ratio has progressed way beyond the point of 'discouraging.'

I think the slowness can be attributed at least in part to poor choice. I keep starting books that I think will be nice, only to realize that I am maybe not so into them. But of course, I have to finish, because I'm stubborn like that. (You were surprised?) And there, it seems, we have solved the Case of the Missing Reading Impetus.

And now I am stuck. Last night I finished the Draggiest Book of All Draggy Books (which would really not be that draggy at all for a normal person) and I can't decide what to pick up next. After a series of false and frustrating starts, I'm a little bit gun-shy.

So I ask you: what would you choose? Here are some options:

- Fun, useless chick lit
- Brainy book on social media strategy (I'm actually into that stuff)
- Quirky, maybe bizarre, novel (which..ahem...I was supposed to review within ten days of receipt, which was like 20 days ago)
- Serious books on faith/doubt/spirituality, deep but think-y and 'good'
- Fun books on faith/spirituality, interesting but maybe not quite as compelling as the doubt-y ones
- Norton's anthology of poetry
- The book we're currently reading in Sunday school (affectionately known as Breakfast Club)
- Essays on Judaism through the lens of Christianity