Why is it that, even when I’ve realized that the book I’ve started reading isn’t the text I actually need to be reading — either it doesn’t do the thing I thought it did, or it occurs to me that my attention would be more fruitfully placed elsewhere — I nonetheless feel the need to finish the thing before moving on to another book?

1 Comment

  1. My mom once read 800 pages of The Brothers Karamazov, decided she didn’t like it, and quit about 50 shy of finishing. Take inspiration from that.

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