This is the longest goddamn entry I've ever made. I realize that most if not all of you do not have neither the time nor the patience to read all of this rambling nonsense, but you have plenty of time to read some and come back later if you wish because I am not going to be here all day long or perhaps tomorrow also. I have to babysit my sister. I apologize for the longness of it all....most of it is rambling nonsense, as I said earlier....straight from the head....or heart...whatever. Have a good day!
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Now again I find myself lost in the world of fiction. When I read a book, I am truly lost in it. Most of the time I find myself reluctant to put it down for such inane activities such as eating. I feel the emotions of the characters and tell them when they are being fools. I laugh with them and when it's powerful enough, I will cry with them. I remember the first time I cried when I read a book. It was a book where this young woman had cancer and she went to this beautiful place to die. Her parents had rented a summer house...but then her cancer got better....I don't know the term for it...and she left for the city. Then her cancer got worse then before and she went back to this summer house to die, because she knew she was going to. But the reason she goes back is for a young man she had met there the first time. She had fallen in love with him and vice versa. He stays by her side until she dies. It had actually been a sequal to a book I had not read. I don't remember what it was called, but it was written by Luralane McDaniel....and I'm quite sure that is not how her fist name is spelled....but yeah. One of the saddest books I've ever read.
But sometimes, I do find myself frequently putting down a book and taking breaks from it. This usually means that I think the book is not worth my time and I usually stop trying to read it. This happened with It, by Stephen King. I can't read it. I also cannot read classical books, such as Jane Eyre or David Copperfield. But I could read A Tale of Two Cities ...."It was the best of times it was the worst of times..." - Dickens. I read that when I was in 6th or 7th grade, to give you an idea of where my reading level was at that time. It was for school, we got to pick our books. My English teacher agreed to let me read a book much beyond that of the grade I was in. I believe I got an A on whatever project we did with the books. I believe it was a paper of comprehension of material, because she had said to pick a book as close to your reading level as possible. I don't remember what it was about anymore, it was so long ago I read it. But I cannot read most classical books.
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I often find myself wondering where the line between reality and imagination lies. Or reality and illusion. Especially after seeing Gothika. How do you truly know when you are really doing something, saying something, seeing something? Or how do you know when you're imagining something altogether? That something isn't made up? Like in this one episode of the Sopranos, Tony conjures up this woman living next door. She is totally of his imagination. Inventing people...how do you really know? How do you really know where the line between reality and fiction lie? How do you know the person standing in line at the store in front of you is really there? Or the person smiling at you from across the street. Have you ever had a "I coulda swore ... ?" moments? Is that a sign that you're imagining something? Or just not remembering? How do you know? How do you know you're not going crazy?
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It's almost one o clock in the morning and here I am, blathering. But I just finished reading a book and I am not tired and there is no one online to talk to. So here I am, rambling about things that don't make any sense, writing this super long entry that probably no one is going to read.
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I keep thinking about the future. Is this why I am suddenly throwing myself into books again? Because I do not want to think? I think that is a correct deduction. But I need to. My first impulse is to run away. Hitch hike somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. I do not want what is here for me. I don't want to get a job and live with my dad. I don't have a clue as to why I feel that why, but the feeling is just there. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad more than anything, but it's just not what I want. Some people may say I'm running away...I don't know. Maybe I am. Maybe I want to. To run away from everything that I am and everything I was and everything I know. Is it adventure I want? A new life? New people to surround myself with? All of that and more? I don't know what I want. Can't there be someone there holding my hand every step of the way? Some guidance? Someone to pick me up and carry me when I fall and am bruised? I guess not, but the thought is nice. I always wondered how far I could go with the amount of money I had at that particular moment I thought it. Right now it isn't very far. "One way ticket on a one way train...like a mad man laughin at the rain..." - Soul Asylum. Wonderful song. Sad music video. The question of Would anyone miss me? is stupid because I know the answer is yes. So why do I wanna do it? I am no longer depressed....for the moment. But perhaps something more dangerous has taken it's place. The need for something new...not the want, the need. The desparation. I think I need it, considering my background and how much I hate it and how much I don't wanna become my parents. Struggling to pay their bills, at the same time trying to feed their need for coke heroin and alcohol while also feeding their kids is not me. But I can't seem to get past it, no matter what I do. Running just seems like the best answer. But running to what? To where? To somewhere better or worse? Can it get worse than it is? Of course it can...it'll always get worse before it gets better. Have I hit worse yet? I don't know. Right now it seems a little better, but as always, I doubt this better will last. Second guesses and doubt cloud my vision as I seemingly unsuccessfully search for answers. There are more goddamn questions than fuckin answers. I've always been one to want to know exactly what's going on and what I'm doing...and now that I don't know, it's driving me absolutely and positively crazy.
Edit
I am still not tired. But now it's almost 1:30.....whatever.....
