It's not for lack of trying, though, and not every book fails for the same reason. Sometimes the problem is too-high expectations. I started reading How I Killed Pluto and Why It Had It Coming by Mike Brown and made it three chapters in. But I was hoping for a powerful voice and transcendent science writing, like Richard Feynman. As far as astronomers go, Brown is probably very charming. But his book just didn't do it for me. I abandoned it.
It's around the third or fourth discarded book that the real depression kicks in. How can I do my job if I can't finish (or even really start) a goddamned book? Jesus, they all have so many pages. How did I ever manage to focus my attention on those things long enough to finish one book, let alone a hundred and fifty or so a year? It's impossible!
Not reading makes me antsy. I buy magazines in hopes of jump-starting my reading impulse, I read long internet articles, but those books still look impenetrable, no matter how many issues of TIME I manage to choke down. I'm unable to read. But like every year, I overcame the ennui. How? Check back in an hour and I'll tell you.