Enthusiasm, or lack thereof

I've been having trouble getting really excited about the things I'm reading lately. (Not just reading, really, but we're focusing on that here.) It might just be that February-ish funk, or maybe I read too fast and furious over winter break. I don't know. It isn't that I'm not reading good books, because I definitely am:

• The Real Boy by Anne Ursu
• The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate
• Ms. Marvel, volume 1
• Stella by Starlight by Sharon Draper

Just in the last couple weeks! These are all really good books, I know this objectively. But I wasn't reading them wishing desperately for a pal to discuss them with and I didn't close them and immediately think about sharing them with students.  

I don't know how to fix this. And I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for in sharing this. It feels, in some ways, like a very private, almost shameful confession: a librarian, burnt out on books (if that is, in fact, what is happening). And it feels a little silly: I read so much that I've hit too much. And really, who doesn't feel this way about everything in February? (And maybe that is the larger problem, that my lack of enthusiasm for books and reading is, perhaps, merely a symptom of a larger disease, or maybe patient zero in an epidemic that is taking out my interests one by one.)

I'm dying for something to get kind of starry-eyed and over-share-y about.