We’ve all had our bookish dry spells. Nothing works for us, we can’t stick with it for more than a few dozen pages. There’s always something else to do, some urgent or semi-urgent task that we might as well get done now.
The stack of just-barely-started books grows until its blocking the light on your bedside table. Stacks of to-be-read books start to teeter on the point of collapse.
And then it stops. You look at the page mark, and find you’re over a hundred pages in, and you haven’t felt the urge to clean the bathroom sink once.
Back to the books, and all the better for the time away.