Homework or the Shelf of Guilt

I used to read a lot of books. In particular during my student years when I devoured books (majoring in English Literature has to do with it) and the Internet was unknown to me for the greater part of my time at university. Yes, I am indeed THAT old. Later on, at Coma HQ, I was bored at work a lot and openly read books at my desk. It was probably the time in my life when I read most. Nowadays, however, owning a first-generation Kindle, I am ashamed to admit that I read very, very few books. In fact, even my book club has given up on even suggesting a book, resigning ourselves to the fact that it really is a bitch'n binge club. Not that this isn't great fun and we spend more than half a minute regretting our lapse into complete and utter superficiality. I read a lot of magazines and blogs, but have stopped reading on the way to work like I used to, just flicking through my smartphone or people-watching instead. There is this square section in my "Boris" bookshelf that contains unread books and its inventory hasn't moved to another part of the shelf (my books are arranged thematically and by author) in years, I am afraid. In keeping with my recent resolution to spend my spare time offline rather than online, I am planning to slim down this pile over the summer.