Such a Cowardly Reader

So I'm well into The Kite Runner and I'm really struggling with it. Today I sat out in the sun on a beautiful field, half watching my son's soccer practice, half forcing myself to read. After practice was over we drove home, me completely depressed, feeling horrible, like I have an ordeal to face (finishing the book), my sons bubbling over about soccer games this weekend, what's for dinner, who's going to the pool with us next week, etc.

A part of me wonders why they're not as depressed as I am, a part of me is glad they aren't. I have decided that the only way to get through this is to read as much as possible, to finish the book as soon as possible. I tell my husband that I'm down because of the book, and that I'm going to finish it as soon as I can. He looks at my yellow sticky book mark placed in the middle of the book and says "Tell me you're farther along than that!" When I say "no" he shakes his head.

It's well written...but I'm wondering why I'm reading it. It's like I'm eating something that is well prepared, beautifully presented, unbelievably tasty, but I know it's going to make me sick. But I keep eating because it's so good, and because I think it's good for me.

I suspect I'll need a lot of silly vampire books after this one.