If everything is under control, you are going too slow
You know there's something wrong with you when your entire top 20 most played songs on iTunes is about where best to off yourself and your comfort movie is found in the 1998 space disaster flick Armageddon.
I've decided I needed to watch some more emotionally positive television. This is what actually happened: I watched Dexter, Damages, Ginger Snaps, and Pan's Labyrinth.
If you want to say: "...I don't really see the emotionally uplifting part but I do see a lot of blood and sex and murder," you are correct and probably as disheartened by now as I am.
And so inevitably, I decided to turn to books yet again. I’m the sort of reader who snoops around the bookstore, gathering up a stockpile and worming into a corner to read the middle few pages, testing to see whether the specific literary work is up my alley. I’ve been hitting a lot of lucky streaks this time around because I’m honestly up to my eyebrows in books. I’m a very cautious book buyer but I love doing it - especially if my pockets are overflowing with coupons. If I can get a very well written book that I’m bound to read more than once, highlight, and cross-reference when I’m writing myself, I believe it’s worth the $9.00 to $10.00.
Personally, I hate library books. I guess I just have a neurotic obsession with owning things. I like to know for sure something is mine - if it is, I tend to treat and appreciate it better. Not to mention, the germs, the odd stains, and the occasional scent of something dying within the pages. To say the least, it’s a major turn off and I find that I simply can’t enjoy even a fantastic book if it’s in that condition.
Since we’re on the topic of my OCDs, have another one (buy one fixation, get one free?): I can’t read and/or absorb things properly if it’s electronic. By which I mean, I can’t read books online and I certainly cannot read something that is meant to be studied (for example: my school texts. This OCD trumps my need to save the rain forest - I helplessly print page after page for the sake of my GPA).
If you haven’t noticed, except for my schoolwork, I don’t take many things seriously (or as seriously as I should). If I realize something is taking too long to catch up with me or if it’s starting to tease the beginning of a migraine into my skull, I blow it off and as far as I’m concerned, it never existed to me. Nothing holds much deadening weight for me which explains why I sometimes do not notice when I accidentally insult someone or damage something until it shatters in my hands and somehow threatens to take out an eye. I’m slowly coming to realize that maybe this has a little something to do with my huge ego but I’ll have to get back to you on that.
I have six short stories on my computer right now. I have never spewed out that many in such a short amount of time. Because this is obviously very important to everybody.
Staples and other stationary stores in general make me impossibly excited. I swear to god, the moment I see a colorful paper clip I feel a sudden rush of explosive glee. As if I don’t have enough trinkets to organize all my crap with (…and then bigger trinkets to organize the smaller trinkets that organize my crap. Can you imagine what it must be like to live with me? Make a note of it if you were planning on this sometime in the near future, pals).
Also? “Happy Birthday to you, you live in a shoe”? How the hell did that happen? I mean, how does that even make any remote sense?
Then last night I sat down and played some Brahms on our old Yamaha. It felt so good. It’s curious to me how just two years ago I wouldn’t be caught dead listening or appreciating classical music because of having such a deep rooted childhood in the art but now? Now I cannot fathom why I ever disliked it. I find so much comfort in art, in every medium.
Unrelated word to the wise: if you have a choice, don't let me drive with someone/any other living organism in the car. I have too great a love for speed, unpredictable turns, and recklessness. The sound of things blasting to pieces also has a tendency to make me giggle.
I've decided I needed to watch some more emotionally positive television. This is what actually happened: I watched Dexter, Damages, Ginger Snaps, and Pan's Labyrinth.
If you want to say: "...I don't really see the emotionally uplifting part but I do see a lot of blood and sex and murder," you are correct and probably as disheartened by now as I am.
And so inevitably, I decided to turn to books yet again. I’m the sort of reader who snoops around the bookstore, gathering up a stockpile and worming into a corner to read the middle few pages, testing to see whether the specific literary work is up my alley. I’ve been hitting a lot of lucky streaks this time around because I’m honestly up to my eyebrows in books. I’m a very cautious book buyer but I love doing it - especially if my pockets are overflowing with coupons. If I can get a very well written book that I’m bound to read more than once, highlight, and cross-reference when I’m writing myself, I believe it’s worth the $9.00 to $10.00.
Personally, I hate library books. I guess I just have a neurotic obsession with owning things. I like to know for sure something is mine - if it is, I tend to treat and appreciate it better. Not to mention, the germs, the odd stains, and the occasional scent of something dying within the pages. To say the least, it’s a major turn off and I find that I simply can’t enjoy even a fantastic book if it’s in that condition.
Since we’re on the topic of my OCDs, have another one (buy one fixation, get one free?): I can’t read and/or absorb things properly if it’s electronic. By which I mean, I can’t read books online and I certainly cannot read something that is meant to be studied (for example: my school texts. This OCD trumps my need to save the rain forest - I helplessly print page after page for the sake of my GPA).
If you haven’t noticed, except for my schoolwork, I don’t take many things seriously (or as seriously as I should). If I realize something is taking too long to catch up with me or if it’s starting to tease the beginning of a migraine into my skull, I blow it off and as far as I’m concerned, it never existed to me. Nothing holds much deadening weight for me which explains why I sometimes do not notice when I accidentally insult someone or damage something until it shatters in my hands and somehow threatens to take out an eye. I’m slowly coming to realize that maybe this has a little something to do with my huge ego but I’ll have to get back to you on that.
I have six short stories on my computer right now. I have never spewed out that many in such a short amount of time. Because this is obviously very important to everybody.
Staples and other stationary stores in general make me impossibly excited. I swear to god, the moment I see a colorful paper clip I feel a sudden rush of explosive glee. As if I don’t have enough trinkets to organize all my crap with (…and then bigger trinkets to organize the smaller trinkets that organize my crap. Can you imagine what it must be like to live with me? Make a note of it if you were planning on this sometime in the near future, pals).
Also? “Happy Birthday to you, you live in a shoe”? How the hell did that happen? I mean, how does that even make any remote sense?
Then last night I sat down and played some Brahms on our old Yamaha. It felt so good. It’s curious to me how just two years ago I wouldn’t be caught dead listening or appreciating classical music because of having such a deep rooted childhood in the art but now? Now I cannot fathom why I ever disliked it. I find so much comfort in art, in every medium.
Unrelated word to the wise: if you have a choice, don't let me drive with someone/any other living organism in the car. I have too great a love for speed, unpredictable turns, and recklessness. The sound of things blasting to pieces also has a tendency to make me giggle.