It’s about that time, folks – time for a summer reading slump, maybe.  I think I might be that unusual reader who reads less in the summer, in general.  Those long light evenings notwithstanding – they are good for reading, I can’t deny that – I find myself so much on the go during the summer that reading often takes a hit.  I’ve always got a book on the go, but I don’t churn through them the way I do during the colder months, and I am not really a big vacation reader (I told this to a friend recently, and she was shocked – but I’m more interested in taking in beautiful scenery that I don’t see every day, and spending time with family or friends).

This summer, books have taken an even harder hit than usual, because my commute is weird.  Have I complained about this once or twice or a dozen times?

For the past three-plus years, I’ve been commuting on public transit – specifically, the D.C. Metro.  Metro definitely has its detractors, and there have been times when I’ve been frustrated by wait times or crowded trains.  And I don’t even want to talk about the time a man sneezed in my purse – yes, that happened, years ago.  But after driving to work for two years in Buffalo, I was thrilled to get back to public transportation.  No more fighting traffic, it’s better for the environment, and – maybe the best part – I can read on the train!

At least, up until this summer!  Metro is rebuilding a bunch of platforms, including the platform at my home station, and the result is that there’s no service near my house from Memorial Day until Labor Day.  Fortunately, my firm is both flexible and understanding, so I’ve been keeping a weird summer schedule that involves driving to work at the crack of dawn two or three days per week and leaving mid-afternoon to beat traffic, and working from home the rest of the time.  No one at work has minded, but as for me – I am itching to get back to my regular routine.  I don’t know about you, but it’s hard for me to get out of the house at 6:30 a.m. or earlier with two small children underfoot as I try to speed through my morning routine.  I hate driving the city streets, I haven’t always been able to avoid traffic despite my best efforts and have had a few 90-minute-plus commutes, and – worst of all – I can’t read on my commutes anymore.  (Sure, I could listen to audiobooks, and I intended to do some of that, but I’ve just found myself catching up on podcasts, which is also fine.)  Losing my reading commutes means losing about an hour of reading time each day (30 minutes each way), and I’ve had to work after bedtime many nights this summer in order to compensate for leaving early to beat traffic – with the result being that when I do finally open my book, it’s often after 9:00 and I am both exhausted and short on time before lights-out so I can do it all again the next day.

And it’s a vicious cycle.  The less time I have to read, the less inspired I am to pick up a book.  Even when it’s something I’m really enjoying – like Mrs. Dalloway, right now – it’s hard to get into it because I know I won’t be able to sink in and really immerse myself in the story, and I don’t see the pages ticking away like I do when I have that extra time to read during my commute.  Take tonight, for instance.  I’ve worked at least an hour after bedtime every night this week, and I promised myself that tonight I’d come straight down after putting Nugget to bed and pick up my book – but I think I’m going to have to work again.  Between losing the hour of commute-reading and being on a strange interrupted schedule, I feel like a reader who barely reads.

At least I know this is temporary.  Come Labor Day, the Metro platform will be open and trains will be running again, and I’ll be back to my usual commute-time reading.  And the weather will start getting cooler, and I’ll want to curl up with a book all evening.  I know it’s temporary.  It’s not like those unexpected reading slumps that have no explanation and no expiration date, when you wonder if you’ll ever enjoy reading again.  I want to read, but circumstances keep preventing me from it, and the more circumstances prevent me, the less motivated I am.

I love summer – I really do.  But… is it Labor Day yet?