Valuing Time Differently

I've always loved reading; I still do. Now that Piper is a little older, some days I find a little time to read. (No, I don't find any time to cook, clean or do laundry - it's all about priorities, people!) However, these days I feel particular impatience with some authors. The reason is that I feel I have so little time alone that every book I read must be worthy of my attention.

For example, a couple of weeks ago I read a book by Maureen Dowd called "Are men necessary?" Dowd is a New York Times columnist, and her columns are witty and sharp. Therefore, I expected a witty and substantive discourse on feminism. The book turned out to be a sloppy compilations of Dowd's rantings. For example, she cites scientific research for the proposition that in 100,000 years the Y chromosome will be extinct. It's pretty obvious that she sat down one afternoon and slapped the book together.

Before Piper was born, I did not feel the same scorn for unworthy literature. I might discard a book, but I'd move on and wouldn't take it as a personal affront. Now, my feeling is, I have so little time, and I'm reading this garbage? Oy.