i’m starting to worry myself a little. not tremendously, or to the point that i’m alarmed, just a wee bit– a minor cause for concern.
it’s getting harder and harder for me to snap back. the longer i live sans roommate or other human companionship the harder it is to come back out of the books. i am reading “use me” by elissa schappell. it’s a book of interconnected short stories akin to melissa bank’s the girls’ guide to hunting and fishing, only it doesn’t suck ass.
i’ve spent the better part of the evening getting lost in the short stories of schappell, and now it’s hard to focus and think. i cannot even imagine trying to communicate with someone right now. moving my mouth to form words just wouldn’t happen.
now i am sad. just tremendously lonely and sad, because of these stories. i could barely finish the one about the young girl whose mother taught her how to be bulemic and then had three abortions all in her quest for love.
so my heart’s all heavy and i feel like a teenage girl from new york city who feels alone and unloved. i feel like the girl who looks forward to visiting the abortion clinc because i want the doctor who keeps performing my abortions to take me away from my life.
see? now i’m all weepy again.
i’m worried that i get too involved in the stories and that there is nobody here to snap me out of it. to bring me back to this planet. i worry that maybe i kinda like it out here in storyland where i don’t have to communicate just how distant i am at the moment. me and my other personality are having no problem discussing the book with half sentences and facial expressions. i worry that i could get lost forever and nobody would notice and that i might not mind that so much. because in the books, there is always love. if nothing else, it’s just my true love for the book.
I find fiction to be intoxicating too.
sometimes I find myself upset at people around me because of what characters in books have done and have made me feel.
the solution to your problem of loneliness is to get out and meet real people. to see in them the fallible human that they are and be their friend. and they might see in you the fallible human that you are and will be your friend back.
It’s a bit of a risk, because there are not many people willing to accept fallibility in themselves or others, but you won’t find the good ones unless you look.
fiction can be appealing because the people are so perfect. perfect in their imperfections, and perfect in their non-existence. It’s the imperfections that make real people interesting…and how they deal with them. cause it’s all in how you pull off your particular blend of perfection and imperfection.
sorry if this is all too forward…the web can sometimes make real people (like those behind a blog) seem like characters in a book too. but you are really in control of your life, and you don’t need to be sad if you don’t want to. it might take some work, though. the things that are really worth it usually do.
hey, have you read the book “Why We Close Our Eyes When We Kiss” by Marnie Woodrow? Great book of short stories, in my opinion. just thought i’d share…:P
she also wrote “In the Spice House” which is great, as well…and easier to get. FYI. 🙂
*rubs her eyes in disbelief*
whadda, whadda??? i’m reading marnie’s first novel, Spelling Mississippi!!!! we’ve been corresponding for a few months now…weird….
that is all.
two recommendations, that’s all i need!
how is the novel, spelling mississippi?
Re: how is SPELLING MISSISSIPPI? I just did an Internet search for this title because all I could find was glowing (though edited) newspaper reviews at amazon.com and I didn’t agree with those. The novel has interesting characters, but their situation topples over after being loaded down by coincidence after coincidence. (You lost your mother?? I lost my father!! You’re a repressed lesbian?? I’m a repressed lesbian!! etc. etc.) Also, the story swerves into being a love story in the second half, which was way too late for me. It’s almost as if the writer felt self -concious about introducing it. Some of the book is great, (such as the flashbacks to Italy and the New Orleans atmasphere), but the contrived plot becomes very annoying. The other thing that bugged me was that the three main characters were all eaten up with despair and a desire for change…but we follow them through the whole book as they stagger from bar to bar getting plastered. It’s like, “You want change, sister?? Try a cup of coffee, for God’s sake!!”