Sometimes it feels like my mind is like a sieve.
When I read a story I invariably am drawn in, often get hooked, sometimes so absorbed I read the book at any conceivable chance. When I am reading non fiction- now that's an entirely different case altogether. I read it, I get it, I enjoy it but it seems to pass through my mind like sand through fingers. So though it does not seem so at the time, concentration-in hindsight- seems lacking; attention span, it would seem, has not much longer a span than a goldfish's memory. Yet at other times, it feels like I am absorbing what I read in a more subliminal way, and I shall (as sometimes I do) know it when I need to.
Sometimes it feels like my mind is like a sieve. Sometimes I am not sure.
This really is an art, I tell you.