Price stickers and scabs, I like picking at them. In fact, that's how you can tell if I've read a book. The ones in my shelves that still have their price stickers on have not yet been consumed. What does that say about me I wonder? That I like a clean back of book? I also like an uncracked spine, feeling somehow a little more respectful of the book, that I'm not forcing it to submit to my will. The other thing it says about me is that I like books.
I also find that most of my friends, my good, close friends, like books. We read, we look for other people's stories, not, I assume, because our stories are not enough. Personally, it is to help my story become a happy ending. I have spent a lot of time with my own thoughts and found, at various points, that books are a distraction, a source of information, and occasionally a source of inspiration.It turns out, that my friends do the same. Why? Because we are constantly making sense of our world, or trying to. Why did this happen, why me, why not me, why do I feel this way, etc. Also it appears that not everybody is like us.
This blog is certainly my attempt to make sense of my world, and who knows, maybe portions of this will be introductions to my autobiography, or a set of essays or something. Always assuming that somebody else wants access to my thoughts.
At present, for some reason, I'm not at all keen on life. I want a long holiday. I want something violently different to look forward to, or to sleep in and do things on my schedule. Maybe will be dealt with by not going to office (i.e. working from home).
The SO and I... we're doing better. He's clarified that he wants to have children with me, but now I'm 36. I'm inclined to collect some money and start the adoption process, while we attempt to get pregnant without medical intervention. Let's see how it goes.
I also find that most of my friends, my good, close friends, like books. We read, we look for other people's stories, not, I assume, because our stories are not enough. Personally, it is to help my story become a happy ending. I have spent a lot of time with my own thoughts and found, at various points, that books are a distraction, a source of information, and occasionally a source of inspiration.It turns out, that my friends do the same. Why? Because we are constantly making sense of our world, or trying to. Why did this happen, why me, why not me, why do I feel this way, etc. Also it appears that not everybody is like us.
This blog is certainly my attempt to make sense of my world, and who knows, maybe portions of this will be introductions to my autobiography, or a set of essays or something. Always assuming that somebody else wants access to my thoughts.
At present, for some reason, I'm not at all keen on life. I want a long holiday. I want something violently different to look forward to, or to sleep in and do things on my schedule. Maybe will be dealt with by not going to office (i.e. working from home).
The SO and I... we're doing better. He's clarified that he wants to have children with me, but now I'm 36. I'm inclined to collect some money and start the adoption process, while we attempt to get pregnant without medical intervention. Let's see how it goes.
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