Yesterday I got Confessions of a Shopaholic from the library, and I finished reading it last night. I didn't read it that fast because I was riveted by the story, though, but because the book was really stressing me out. I realize the main character's problems are supposed to be humorous, but I didn't find them funny-- I kept reacting with a kind of fascinated horror. Maybe I'm too neurotic, but the thought of being in debt up to my eyeballs scares the living cr*p out of me. I could hardly sleep last night... it was like I'd been reading a horror novel. Not to say it was a bad book, just that it freaked me out. Which probably says more about my personal insecurities than it says about the book.
Anyway... as I was entering it into my reading journal, I noticed that my reading tastes have changed quite a lot since the beginning of the year. I started out the year reading contemporary romance almost exclusively (I was pregnant, after all, and probably choosing the genre I love best). But I think I got bored with the nothing-but-contemp program, because lately I've been reading about one mystery a month (I started on the Stephanie Plum series but now am branching out to similar amateur sleuth series), one chick lit a month, and a smattering of sci-fi. I'm also reading a whole heck of a lot of paranormal and futuristic romance. Contemporary romance is less prominent in my reading journal than it was, and historical romance has practically disappeared from my reading altogether.
I'll blog a breakdown of my reading year so far tomorrow... if my computer lets me *pained grimace*.