Because the last few weeks of a semester are particularly stressful, I decided that the best way to de-stress was to read a childhood favorite of mine: Goosebumps.
Reading the Goosebumps series was a great way to unwind: it didn't require too much thought and it had predictable, amusing plots that neatly tied all the strings at the end of each book.
Little 12-year-old me could (and did) spend hours reading book after book of R.L. Stine's work. However, 19-year-old me reads a lot faster than her younger counterpart and I usually finished a Goosebumps book within fifteen minutes of opening it. You'd think that that would have been hint enough that I needed to pick up something else. But I wasn't ready to relinquish the turn-your-brain-off-for-a-little-while quality that Goosebumps had.
So, instead of picking up a joke book like any regular person, I plowed through at least twenty of these things these past two weeks.
Now I feel ill and bloated, the way one would feel after eating so much Christmas dinner that the mere sight of food turns them off.
This has been my first case of binge-reading and it has not been pleasant.
Now I think that I'll de-stress in a much more rational manner. Like looking up cute puppies on Google.