I’ve been upping my reading game the last couple of months. I never feel like I’m reading enough, but I was kind of slacking off last year and earlier this year. I feel accomplished when I spend all day reading, even if I never so much as put a bra on. Staying all day in bed reading is acceptable in a way staying in bed all day watching TV is not.
This year I accidentally and then on purpose decided to only read women. I saw someone doing something similar last year somewhere online and it seemed like an interesting thing to do. I don’t know if anything different has happened, but I will say, I’ve liked to loved every single book I’ve read so far this year, and the hardest thing has just been having to save books that I’m interested in for later.
I like dude writers. Wait, no. I hate “dude writers.” But, I like writers that are men. I might sneak in The Halloween Tree in October because it will take me less than a day and it just doesn’t feel like Halloween without Bradbury and that book (or I might just read The Haunting four times in a row all month).
I know it’s not Important, but it still feels important, to me anyway. I was never someone who read the canon because it was the canon, but it’s nice to ignore that shit for a little while.
ANYWAY, this has gotten away from me a bit. Maybe I’ll try to write something more coherent at the end of the year.
Is almost crying on the floor in the back cleaning up an entire bottle of Irish Spring bodywash a low point? What about actually crying after the fact on the phone to my mom because I’m so fed up?
If you get the accidental sad drunks (drunk sads?) after an exceptionally shitty day at work that started out almost pleasant, I highly recommend wailing along to Neko Case and anything Jenny Lewis sings on/in in a hot shower.
The summer I was supposed to leave for college and I adopted a spider who spun a web outside of my window, and I named her Charlotte, or Charlie, because, believe it or not I don’t know how to determine the sex of spiders. When I was doing everything to hold on to my home and my childhood, my bedroom and the first book I loved. The summer I still freaked out whenever there was a spider in the apartment.
The summer I was supposed to leave for college, or I guess did, technically, leave for college, but didn’t stay left very long, when I was anxious the entire beginning of the summer, and crying for most of the end.
The summer when my intended major was, what exactly? social work? or something tangentially related to social work. The summer when I thought I had the emotional fortitude to help others. The summer when I might even have a job now if I had done what I was “supposed to do.”
The deciding summer, essentially, but the summer I ignore and forget as much as humanly possible.
Yes, the idea of don’t compare yourself to others, everyone moves at their own pace, etc., etc., is really nice to think but is not so easy to live when you are the only one left sleeping in your childhood bedroom, the only one left working in retail, the only one left without a long term, or short term, or any term significant other (which, I don’t even want in any concrete sense, but have you ever been the fifth wheel? it’s weird.), the only one left not worrying about money nearly as much as you should, because, fuck it why bother trying to save anyway? you’ll never be able to save enough on this fucking salary.
Memories of the Beach in Vaguely Chronological Order:
- Searching for Cape May Diamonds in the evening with my nana and cousins
- Holding onto my mom in the ocean in Maine. Mom losing her glasses during a big wave.
- Being the only one in the group I was with not reading Deathly Hallows. (This was after I grew out of but before I super grew back in to Harry Potter.)
- Pulling over on the side of the road on the way home from a long day down the shore to snag a couple of ears of corn with someone I barely talk to anymore. (It was a senior tradition that we had missed out on earlier in the summer but refused to actually miss out on completely.)
- Bring the whole blender pitcher of daiquiris to the beach in North Carolina and spending the evening getting drunk and letting the waves roll over our feet at high tide.
- Writing this list in my head, and forgetting to apply more sunscreen.