Don't read it. Loads of misery here.

I have a superpower. I excel at listening. But when my friend tried to chat me up on how what you read impacts how well you write, a couple of weeks ago, all that kept running through my head, to my abject horror, was "Maaf kar de bhai!! Mera dimag aur mat kha!"
One and a half years of headbanging over thesis work, combined with the departmental seminar and listening to the troubles of all those people, have elevated me to that level of misery where the mere sight of a human face has started to seem intolerable. It's AHMAZING! There are manuscripts in queue, but no will to write them; experiments are planned, but executing them seems too much trouble; there's no zeal to get out on the bike and train, no ardour to crunch weights in the gym, no will to read, none whatsoever to write, attempts to make new friends result in being treated like a lamppost, it's all perfect! Juuuust perfect. I feel exactly like that lawyer who goes to live in an ancient mansion in Munger and falls in love with a ghost. It doesn't end well. (Ref. Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay)
Heck I could use a holiday!