Don't get me wrong—I love my gym. I love going to my gym. It allows me, for an hour or two, to get away from my computer, from my brain, from the constant barrage of words, words, words. It lets me escape from the reading, checking, and correcting. Well, almost.
You see, I was the child who sat at the breakfast table and, without enough time to enjoy a book before catching the school bus, instead perused the back of the cereal box. I would read it each morning, turning to the side panels when I ran out of text, as if something interesting might be there that perhaps hadn't been there yesterday. I must not even really have known I was doing it.