I am enthralled by books of my childhood right now, and, while I love my life, I feel as though I have an almost addiction to them because of my total envy of the characters’ lives, thus making it seem as though my own life does not meet my own standards…. which makes me envy them all the more.
I began reading last night a book that I had loved as a young girl… and I have found many similarities between myself and the main character…
Have I developed myself based on this character, though most of the details had long been forgotten, or did I originally like the book because I already related so much to the main character?
It kind of feels like I’m asking myself the deepest of psychological questions…
But it also feels like I’m asking myself a ‘chicken or the egg’ kind of question…
Why did I read the book Love in the Time of Cholera?
Because Sara, in the movie “Serendipity”, pulled it from her bag, and wrote her number in it, so that, after she sold it to a used book store the next day, Jonathan would have a chance of finding it and contacting her, if fate – serendipity – allowed it.
And her character in the film has always reminded me of the girl I want to be.
So, since she had it for some reason, likely to read it, I thought I’d have it and give it a read.
And I did.
And that isn’t the oddest of reasons I’ve read books, either.
(… just in case you were wondering…)
Some Saturday nights are best spent staying up long past the usual bedtime, pouring over that book you just can’t seem to stop reading.
(And back to that book, now…)
Do you ever find yourself filled with this unexplainable feeling of joy and excitement regarding the general idea of what’s happening in your life, and then suddenly realize that the feeling isn’t actually about your own life, but about the character’s life from a movie or book that you were just watching or reading?
And then, at that realization, do you find yourself suddenly totally miserable, and already considering what movie or book would be a good remedy for your current state, while simultaneously wondering if that wouldn’t just put you back in the same position as you are right now?
Life is nuts, I tell you… or, at least, I am, anyway.
Have you ever read it, Atlas Shrugged? I am listening to the audiobook while driving, and I am finding it oddly wonderful. Occasionally, I want to jot down sentence after sentence from it, and then just give up the idea, realizing that I might as well just tell people to read the whole book, because there are only five million quotes worth sharing from it. Obviously, that is exaggerated. However, I gave up bothering to write down anything from it, because before I can even pause the book to write down what I’d just heard, I’ve already heard something else, something additional, that I now also want to write down. And that goes on for quite a while, such that I would be pausing the book far too much to be able to stay in the book. So, I don’t copy any of them down, and I don’t even bother working on remembering them either, there are so many of them. I just listen and absorb and enjoy and wonder. I have no idea what this book is about. I had ideas related to something from the era of Fahrenheit 451 and the other Orwell future-is-a-terrible-place sorts of novels, but I don’t know where I got the idea – I genuinely knew nothing but the title of the book before I began reading it just last week.
But I like it so far. It has me ever on my toes, and the reader is wonderful with making everything seem important and worth hearing. I feel like I’m in a spy novel of some sort, but, instead of its being about a murder of some sort, it is about life as a whole, and we are spying on life as a concept, and examining each little piece and evaluating it as though it were unique and brand new to us. All this with a love of a railroad company taking the driver’s seat, and being good at whatever work one does in the passenger seat.
I feel this sort of desperation regarding reading still, as though there is something very specific and very important to be gained by reading some undetermined but great number of books, and it is on a sort of time limitation – I must go through them as fast as possible in order to make everything okay.
Because, I guess, everything is not okay right now.
But… what if everything actually is okay right now?
…But, if it is, then what’s with the reading frenzy?