I forgot how much I love reading

I haven't read a book outside of class, like really sat down and gotten involved, been so excited about the next chapter I can't focus in school kind of read, in about a year and a half. The last book I read cover to cover was either Turtle Diary by Russell Hoban, By Night In Chile by Roberto Bolaño, or Book of Monelle by Marcel Schwob. These all came with each other, in a cloudy space between spring and summer of sophomore year. Since then, I've built a teetering, fragile pile of books I need to read: Geek Love, Kafka on the Shore, Riddley Walker, and so many more. I hate looking at this mound, sending guilt up my spine, knowing I'm not going to read most of the novels any time soon, so every once in a while I'll start one of them offhandedly. I know the names of at least some characters of Geek Love, the first half of the plot of Lolita, the general concept behind Feathers by Raymond Carver, yet I never manage to seriously pursue the stories.

I watch a lot of TV online, I read a lot of articles, I read a lot of zines, I read a lot of poetry, but there is nothing, in my opinion, as gripping and manipulative as novels. In a lot of ways, I sort of expected myself to grow away from novels, fiction in general, by now. Neither of my parents read much fiction; my mother reads philosophy and my father reads articles. I started Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin this week, and it threw me violently back into literature. There's something electrifying about reading after a long, long break, moreso than slamming through book after book, in the same way that a fresh crush feels all the more heavenly after a breakup. I'm sure you can relate, but it's intoxicating when you can't stop thinking about something, person or book.

Fiction will never cease to enchant me. There is so much complexity and potential in prose and I find that incredibly captivating. The first time I sat down to start Giovanni's Room, I only got about one chapter in. It was late, right before bed, and I was reading out of some constructed guilt without my gut really being in it; but coming back with a desire to get back into fiction made so much of a difference; now, I've read almost half the book in a single sitting, and only stopped myself because college applications were looming over my head.

I'm not sure if I have a point with this blog post, but it's so satisfying to have a story waiting for you to return, and to have that NOT be from TV or movies. I forgot how much I love to read!!

Self care

Lately time's been rushing by way, way too quickly. Daily routine seems to make the days lurch by, yet it's already the end of the quarter and I find that to be unbelievable, if not daunting. In a limbo like this, it can be difficult to remember the importance of taking care of yourself.

I had no free time this weekend -- Saturday was a mix of hanging out, babysitting, and domestic responsibilities, Sunday a mess of homework and errands. Early Saturday morning I went out and walked underneath the clouds and murk, ate lengua tacos in dingy restaurants with my friends, drove to both Goodwill stores in Champaign County, babysat until it was dark enough to see the almost-full moon, and went to Target an hour before closing with my dear friend. We took the long way because I'm too scared to drive on the highway yet. By the end of the night I was so burnt out I needed time for myself -- it's that classic teenage angst, the kind where you don't want to be with anyone, don't want to go home, just want to be out in your own head. As a recently-licensed 17 year-old, there's something electrifying about night driving still and, however minor it might be, 5 minutes of extra cruising time was an act of self care in that instant.

On the way home from Chicago last week, my brother and I had a really meaningful conversation about our tendencies. My friend was asleep in the backseat, and for the first time in months, Simon and I got to talk for hours on our own. He drove. The darkness of the highway was hypnotic and lulling. We agreed that both of us act in really particular ways -- specifically, we tend to exist in an awkward space between hermit, socialite, and introvert. Neither of us will actively seek people out, but we love closeness with friends and emotional intimacy. We've always had one or two incredibly close friends each, and that's enough. He's in school for landscape architecture, and I'm currently trying to decide between sociology and NRES; he wants to live on his friend's farm after university, my dream job is currently either being a national park ranger or a florist. We've somehow paralleled each other in multiple ways, and I think that intense need for alone time (hermit-ness, really), is a manifestation of both of our self-care routines as well.

Being alone for long periods of time is, honestly, integral in my life, and senior year is making it difficult for me to work in meaningful personal time. Simon told me he loves living at home because he gets to spend his days biking around a town he already knows and drawing flowers in his room, and I couldn't help but want the same; self care is a constant in my brother's life and, though I know eventually this will all calm down, I miss it badly right now!