Today during my break at work I was reading Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, which is fantastic reading, by the way. I was suddenly seized by an urge to grab the baby carrots out of the Target bag I brought, and thereby was forced to tear my attention away from the book.
When I did so, Annie stopped speaking. I had desired the carrots at an inopportune time and made her stop short in the middle of a sentence.
I didn’t realize until then that when I read, I immerse myself in conversation and let the author talk to me. I hear Annie’s voice in my head, as she explains to me her glorious observations of shadows and praying mantises and blind people made to see.
I felt so bad for cutting her short, for hanging up the book, that I forgot all about the baby carrots and picked her up again. Sorry Annie, please continue.