My reading habits have changed. I read fewer novels. My usual pastime in more indulgent moments, the crime novel, has started to bore me to snoredom. I’m still too impatient and nervous to read books regularly and thoroughly. Newspapers, magazines and the Internet have damaged my intellectual consistency: scanning is the usual mode of intake.
But somehow I get back to the spiritual appetite of my middle university years, when I devoured the classics of Analytical Philosophy after an unhappy affair with Critical Theory and French Blabla. Only now it’s not Frege or Goodman but history and international politics. Must have to do with approaching the magic Five-O threshold.