Reading anxiety (different to the semiotic anxiety of reading that involves wresting with signs, decoding and privilege) has me in its ice-cold clutches of late. I find that I am breaking out in feelings of inadequacy and time-negligence while I play Words with friends on my iPhone or spend a day experimenting in the kitchen or enjoying a film marathon or, occasionally, drinking at the pub.
I am wracked with guilt every time I indulge in such cavalier activities while there is so much reading material passing me by, online and in print.
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