My wife gave me a Kindle reader for my birthday in June. Although she sought to do good rather than harm, I have become addicted to it and to its free collection of old classics. I should have known that this would happen. Even a year ago, it was written that
The CEO of Amazon.com is bracing for a future in which you’ll also want ones for your kid heading to college, your spouse in a book club and perhaps even Grandpa.
It’s already become even more addictive than Demon Rum and I can’t stop myself. But the situation is worse, far worse, even than that.
Whenever I take a nap my Kindle goes with me and I read until I begin to doze off; then, I turn it off, place it on my nightstand and sleep. Ditto when I retire for the night. However, while asleep I often continue reading the same story as though on my Kindle. Upon awakening I am surprised, if only for a second or so, that it is still on my nightstand where it belongs. Reverting to the Kindle, I sometimes find myself surprised that the actual storyline there is different than in my dream.
Surely, this must be a sign of severe and chronic mental deterioration. However, there is no way for me now to be cured of the addiction or of its unanticipated consequences. Probably, if someone had read to me instead this horror would not have beset me. Alas, there is no hope.