Books can be such treacherous things they trap you and pull you away from reality. When it's over you're left hungry and alone in an unmade bed, too lazy to get up to open the windows, blearily shoving away the food wrappers and cigarette ash to the side away before you finally close your eyes to rest.
I might as well have a drug problem for all these fantasy land kind of thoughts and my deep incompetence at managing practical affairs.
Anyway I'm just exaggerating. I read too quickly to really develop severe problems from the habit.
