I’m one of the lucky people who get an hour for lunch every day. Well most days. Some days I get half hours but that’s besides the point and counter conductive  for this story. Please ignore that last statement and focus on the part where I get an hour for lunch every day.

Like most people I really look forward to lunch but not just because of food. Don’t get me wrong food is awesome and I love it, but lunch is where I get the most reading done for the day. I get to slip away from work for an hour and just exist within a story. Seriously there is no better feeling in the world, and it’s only enhanced by being at work. I’m not entirely sure how to describe it but it’s like the closest you can come to leaving work for the day without getting fired. Does that make sense?

Lunch time reading is one of the things I look forward to the most each and every day, but there are times where it can provide the worst feeling ever. Like today. I’m sure you’re asking yourself, “Kevin is it because the book you’re reading sucks or emotional? Did you get a case of the feels?”, and the answer to those questions are no it doesn’t suck, this particular part was emotional, and yes of course I got the feels. But that’s not what I want to focus on.

Remember when I said I sometimes get half hour lunches (you should I only said it three paragraphs ago)? Last week was one of those weeks and it really slowed down the reading of the Goblet of Fire to the point where I’m still reading it this week #grrrrr I woke up this morning with a little more then sixty pages left and determined to finish. There is a whole different feeling to day when I know I’m going to finish a book. That feeling of impending victory and self awesomeness.

Any way, I took too long to get my lunch and sat down to read later then I would have wanted. On top of that the sandwich I was eating was kind of messy (buffalo chicken what what) and I had to continuously wipe my hands. In other words, my reading rhythm din’t pick up until there was ten minutes left of lunch. Arrrrrrrggggh my hour ended with thirty pages left in the book. Thirty. That’s it. The book is more or less done and I have yet to complete it. I have felt it hanging over me all day almost mocking me with its unfinishedness (it’s a word!).

Is there a worse feeling in the world then being at the finish line of a book and being unable to complete the journey because of job time restrictions? Every reader should have it put into their work contracts that if they are close to finishing a book at lunch then said reader should be expected to finish said book before returning. This way frustration and yearning are removed from the remaining hours of the work day.

Ugh. Just let me finish…