I suppose I would be left quite lonely in this book group; fortunately the one I am a member of consists mostly of non-mothers or of women whose children have flown the coop. This article does remind me though of times I’ve been left lonely in life:
Is that a lame excuse? Have I, and our other club members, become lazy? Complacent? Has motherhood made us incapable of putting literary tragedy in its proper perspective? Or are we just…tired? Are we victims of the mentality that says we must do it all or die trying? (Books on this topic will almost always get the nod.) Is it so wrong to simply want to zone out with a magazine, or a Will Ferrell movie, instead of the latest Oscar nominee for Best Picture?