I miss Harry Potter
I've gotten into the habit of grabbing the first book that comes to hand whenever I leave for work, so I'll have something to read on break.
Oh my god my parents own some depressing books. Growing up on a steady diet of silly science fiction and fantasy novels, I feel like a lot of mainstream adult books will never sit right with me. Mostly because the vast majority of adults seem to be so emotionally stunted that they are totally incapable of growing or loving or being anything other than completely horrible.
I just finished an autobiography that was so dark and grim it was almost painful. This one part in particular, from a chapter about this sad little Irish schoolgirl's initial forays into sex, won't leave my brain:
"In those years, sex only made sense to me once. I was friendly with an American man who was doing a postgraduate degree in Dublin. He was much older than the rest of us-he'd been in the CIA, even, according to himself... One afternoon I when I went round there, he was the only person in. We flirted around on bed the in his room, not very seriously. Then the doorbell rang and he went off downt he passage to answer it. He came back in, and with his face all screwed up, and feeling his way blindly, and without a word, he pushed and pulled my clothes apart and forced himself into me. After a few awful minutes of red-hot pain he collapsed onto my shocked body, sobbing dreadfully. He sat on the edge of the bed after a while and put his head in his hands. 'That was a telegram,' he said. 'My mother is dead.' "
I can't handle any more books about people unable to properly comunicate any of the things they feel. I need some comic books and a warm blanket and a big cup of tea.
Everyone just be honest and kind. Honest and tea and kind and blankets. Gosh, please.
Oh my god my parents own some depressing books. Growing up on a steady diet of silly science fiction and fantasy novels, I feel like a lot of mainstream adult books will never sit right with me. Mostly because the vast majority of adults seem to be so emotionally stunted that they are totally incapable of growing or loving or being anything other than completely horrible.
I just finished an autobiography that was so dark and grim it was almost painful. This one part in particular, from a chapter about this sad little Irish schoolgirl's initial forays into sex, won't leave my brain:
"In those years, sex only made sense to me once. I was friendly with an American man who was doing a postgraduate degree in Dublin. He was much older than the rest of us-he'd been in the CIA, even, according to himself... One afternoon I when I went round there, he was the only person in. We flirted around on bed the in his room, not very seriously. Then the doorbell rang and he went off downt he passage to answer it. He came back in, and with his face all screwed up, and feeling his way blindly, and without a word, he pushed and pulled my clothes apart and forced himself into me. After a few awful minutes of red-hot pain he collapsed onto my shocked body, sobbing dreadfully. He sat on the edge of the bed after a while and put his head in his hands. 'That was a telegram,' he said. 'My mother is dead.' "
I can't handle any more books about people unable to properly comunicate any of the things they feel. I need some comic books and a warm blanket and a big cup of tea.
Everyone just be honest and kind. Honest and tea and kind and blankets. Gosh, please.