I can't decide how I feel right now or what I am thinking. It is a jumbled mush of goo. It is a mixture of cosmopolitans and oatmeal cookies. There is a toothpaste taste in my mouth, and i am shivering from cold. I am all over the place, and can't decide if I should go to sleep or seek the counsel of a good friend. Problem is: can't find any good friends close enough to talk to. Sound sad? Probably is. I guess. Michael is indeed a good friend, but he is asleep, and that doesn't make for good talking.
Things seem hazy at the moment. My apartment is hideously cold. Our water heater is still unfixed, and the temperature is a cool 59 degrees. I haven't yet donned a sweatshirt. I figure I can beat it. It is all in your head, right? A friend once told me that if i just thought warm thoughts... well, you know.
So here i am. In the old days I would take out my trusty lined college ruled journal and go to town, but these days I use the computer for the same purpose. Different, yet with similar goals. It just hurts my hand to write in long hand. Is that because I am older, or just more practiced with the keyboard lately? Either way... I have an apple now, and the keyboard is a lot quieter, I'll tell you that. I have been told that I am a violent typer, so for that I am very grateful for the soft apple keyboard. i can type as hard as i want without making a sound. Good times.
I have felt pent up lately. i have been reading the same book for about three weeks now, which is very unlike me, and i don't know how much that has to do with it, though I am sure it is something. It is called "Journey to the End of the Night" by Celine, and good lord is it a long time consuming read. I keep forcing myself to read it because it was recommended to me, and for some reason I feel this need to finish it. It has become this epic road for me, and i feel that i must finish, and at this point I know that if I don't finish I never will. It is in no way a bad book, and for some reason I feel that it is probably critically acclaimed, but I cannot feel for the character, and don't think I ever will. Perhaps feeling is not the way to critically acclaim books, but that is the way I read. I feel it, and I think it, and i wax dreamy about the contents. I lie awake in my bed and think about the characters' plights. With this novel... i don't lie awake at all. In fact, it puts me to sleep. I honestly can't remember the lead character's name. It's awful, I know. Terrible. And the funny thing is that I won't remember it later. I won't get anything out of the book the way I am going, yet for some crazy reason I feel like I must finish. It is a task to be sure.
I just can't wait for my next book. I want a challenge, but a rewarding one. This one isn't going to give me satisfaction at the end. It is not like a hike to a peak where I can look down and say "no matter how many times I barfed and how many toes I lost this view is worth the entire trip." nope. I am going to put the book back on the shelf, and probably forget the majority of it.
then why read it? because I can. So that I know deep down that I got through it just because I wanted to. Or to make the next book that much more enjoyable.
And not all reading is completely enjoyable during the read. Some of it is tough and/or dry, but it offers something. Hopefully this will be one of those. Hopefully I am not being over critical. (Though I am sure that I am.) i have read less well written books that were a struggle to go through, but at the end I was a better person for reading them. The Rasputin File. Krakatoa. To name two off the top of my delirious head.
Tomorrow is Sunday. The last day of my four day weekend. Much of the weekend has been spent waiting on word about the water heater, and I have tried to be positive about the entire thing. It has been much better today, especially since watching Kite Runner yesterday. That helped.
I hope for a positive day tomorrow. I hope to be in a good mood. I want to keep trying to see life with good eyes - keep appreciating the leaves and golden light and laughter. I'll keep trying. I will finish my book, and no matter what the outcome I'll be happy that I love to read and will look forward to the next one.
Maybe someone out there will talk to me about books. We'll see. I know there are tons of people out there who still love to read. I know it. Where they are... Different story. All I can hope is that we are not too old to make friends. We can't be. Life is so short, and sometimes very empty. Or it can seem to be. We need to hold on to each other. Sometimes there seems to be so little to hold on to.
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