There is a FaceBook application called weRead, where you stock your virtual bookshelf with books you’ve read and books you want to read. You can see what your friends have enjoyed, and compare notes. Plus, the application makes recommendations to you based on your lists and ratings.
All the Harry Potter books are listed as favorites on my shelf. Also, I have read a disproportionately large number of young adult fiction considering that I am not a teacher. But I was gonna be, once, so I promise that explains it. And when I was a young adult, I had a lot more time on my hands to read fun stuff.
Now all my recommendations are for kids’ books. I swear I’ve read lots and LOTS more than what’s on my shelf. My problem is that I have a terrible memory. If I could look at book covers, and read synopses, I could accurately stock the damn shelf. But I can’t. At least not today. I’ll save that time-suck for another day, perhaps. I just can’t remember all the stuff I read. I can hardly remember the stuff I’ve read in the last few months. Most people would think that means I didn’t like the book much, and in some cases that’s probably quite right. But in the majority of instances, it really is just my bad memory.
My cousin told me recently about a trip she took with her dad. On this trip, they stopped by my house. Not just stopped, but stayed. Apparently, we played poker with my brother-in-law (that sounds about right) and my cousin totally beat him (I really wish I could remember that). How do I not remember this? It was far from a regular occurrence, especially if someone besides my bro-in-law won.
At this period in time, Hubby and I lived in Vegas. I hated those two years. And while I remember that I hated it there, I don’t remember much else. I can’t even look back at photos to jog the memory because I didn’t take any! We moved there as newlyweds and I photographed the equivalent of two rolls of film. Our first apartment, our first house, our first dog, all the visitors who suddenly loved us because we lived in Vegas… I got nothin’.
I wonder if that’s why I obsessively snap photos now, and obsessively think about scrapbooking them. Maybe it’s some subconscious reaction to my horrible memory skills.