Do I Read For Me Or For The Book?

It's nights like these when I really start to wonder about the validity of the way I live. I begin to question the reasoning behind my random decisions. I micro-analyze my own motivation for every little thing under the sun. But I just thought of something. Every now and then, I remember the kid I used to be - the one that loved to read and really got into the books I read. And whenever I think about that enough to get to the point where I ask myself, "Why am I not like that anymore?" my mind always directly follows with, "Now that I am older and know how much is out there, I'm overwhelmed by the options." And like everything else I try to choose from (television shows, college majors, singers), there are so many options that all look so good that I don't know where to start. So instead of doing anything I just do nothing, simply to avoid the pressure of deciding what to do, or at least what to do first. This is how I am now, not committing to any novel because my to-read list is so incredibly long. I think I struggle with not seeing things as steps - if only you start that big old project now, you can do one step at a time and before you know it, it's done! I only ever visualize the big fat intimidating "whole", not the digestable steps that one realistically takes. And this is probably why I'm such a procrastinator, even with reading, which I enjoy (in theory).
Beyond all of this, I think there's something else that enters my mind when I ask myself why I don't read more. Whenever I actually get past the "too-many-choices-not-gonna-choose" thing, I take into consideration which books actually deserve being read. And only today did I think about it to this extent - is my reading of books about me, or about the book? Is it about me reading and getting something out of the book, or is it about me honoring the author by showing my respect through reading their book? That's a question I've never even thought of before, but now it's haunting me. The classics are almost definitely about the author - with such renowned writers as literary champions, the least I can do is to pay my respects to their masterpieces. The struggle to actually sit down and read classics is easily understood. It's the other books, the ones I decide to read simply because the cover's pretty, that I really need to ask myself that question about. For example, I go into Barnes and Nobles and somehow end up in the Young Adult section, and I come across the "Paranormal Romance" shelf - yes, a real shelf at B&N - would I willingly pick one up and read it based on the author or my own desires to grow/self-indulge? The answer in this case is no and no, since a.) no author of silly vampire teenage romance novels has earned enough respect to deserve a read from me, and b.) the genre is the most pointless of them all, in my opinion, and therefore isn't even worth my time if it was the last thing to do in a locked room. But as for all of the novels in between the too-silly-to-consider novels and the too-old-to-dismiss classics, those will have to be tested by that question. After all, if I just went around reading whatever I picked up, I might never actually read anything substantial or worthwhile, given the number of books that exist. (Side note: one of the biggest perks of being immortal, besides learning all of the languages and being really smart and cultured, would be to read all of the books in the entire world.) So, going forward, I will be more particular about what I spend my time reading. After all, bad writing is like junk food for the brain - you regret the investment afterwards and you're probably worse off for it.