Nhờ sửa bài giúp

(Maybe that matches with the period of me geting totally incommunicative).

I remember that spring I still was reading a little, I have read a couple of books of Feuchtwanger and I 've read something else with my husband Anton.

That time I already had slack interest in reading, books seemed to me already boring, alike and flat, "nothing new in it" I thought, "all is vanity and vexation of spirit" I thought.

I imagined myself wise and experienced, at least in all about books and movies.

In fact I was just stupid and depressed.

A bit later the repulsion to books came up, when I tried to read it.

And I felt dissatisfaction and disappointment because of story proceeded slowly, because of nothing was happen, because I have to get over the description of a nature or an interior before something interesting will happen.

When I watch movies that's almost the same, but I have visual impressions at least and events goes a bit faster.

Year ago there was a change and I could read again, but only something very unusual for me.

So I've read odd "Unsafe Abortions" by Lomachinsky and the Sherlock Holmes adventures when I lived in Nepal.

And now I can read only something I had already read way back, like for example the book about Chichvarkin and "The Twelve Chairs" by Ilf and Petrov.