Day 36: Apr 3, 2012.
It was a lovely relaxed day. I read, wrote, studied, swam, bought pearl drop earrings that I'd been looking for for the longest time, visited the parlor, and generally felt good about myself.
I don't want to jinx it by saying so, but I haven't cried in a week. There's no pain, no debilitating nausea when I think of him with someone else, no palpitations, nothing. The wound appears to have healed. I miss him, but I think that's more out of habit than anything else. Fingers crossed that it stays this way.
Today my brother ate my head for an hour about how I should give him my iTouch and take his because mine's two generations newer and he can use it to play some games that he can't use his for, or something like that. I blew my top completely. He has no school work, he's in-between academic years, and all he obsesses over are video games. Other than the few books my mom force-feeds him, or the ones I guilt-trip him into reading by buying for him with my own earnings, he doesn't read. Worse still, I don't think my brother is the exception, it would be more accurate to say he is the rule.
His growing years are defined not by the Famous Fives and Mallory Towers, but by throwing birds onto pigs living in glass houses. Whatever happened to hiding books under desks in class and reading, or sneaking them to family events and finding quiet corners to read, while everyone else is searching for you? Wherever did the kids reading on buses, in clinic waiting rooms, under the bed sheets by torch light, disappear? What happened? No one even goes for lunch or dinner alone anymore, because no one feels the need to read during lunch and dinner. It's terrible.
Then there's the Kindle. Shoot me. No bookshelves to admire, no pretty inscriptions on the first page of books, no bookmarks, no gifting books on birthdays and anniversaries, no satisfaction of turning pages, no reading on the pot for fear it'll fall in, no second hand books to imagine what the previous owner was like, none of it. What you're left feeling like is that you're reading one long-ass text message. Who knows, years from now I might be reduced to it myself, but I darn well won't be happy about it.
I think it's time I bought a smart-phone. I'm so wary of it though. When Man's laptop died a couple of days ago, she was telling me how much free-er she felt, how she suddenly had so much time on her hands. What if the smart-phone will just make it worse? Just contribute to the stress of constantly being in touch with the universe, in ways that don't even matter to begin with. Gluck.
This is the quintessence of entropy, I assume.
Didam used to say something I always found rather lame: "God is my love and Books are my friends." From her collection of books I do know that I am atleast fifth-generation prolific reader. What if fifth and last?
To all my kindred spirits,
All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Read on!
SV.
It was a lovely relaxed day. I read, wrote, studied, swam, bought pearl drop earrings that I'd been looking for for the longest time, visited the parlor, and generally felt good about myself.
I don't want to jinx it by saying so, but I haven't cried in a week. There's no pain, no debilitating nausea when I think of him with someone else, no palpitations, nothing. The wound appears to have healed. I miss him, but I think that's more out of habit than anything else. Fingers crossed that it stays this way.
Today my brother ate my head for an hour about how I should give him my iTouch and take his because mine's two generations newer and he can use it to play some games that he can't use his for, or something like that. I blew my top completely. He has no school work, he's in-between academic years, and all he obsesses over are video games. Other than the few books my mom force-feeds him, or the ones I guilt-trip him into reading by buying for him with my own earnings, he doesn't read. Worse still, I don't think my brother is the exception, it would be more accurate to say he is the rule.
His growing years are defined not by the Famous Fives and Mallory Towers, but by throwing birds onto pigs living in glass houses. Whatever happened to hiding books under desks in class and reading, or sneaking them to family events and finding quiet corners to read, while everyone else is searching for you? Wherever did the kids reading on buses, in clinic waiting rooms, under the bed sheets by torch light, disappear? What happened? No one even goes for lunch or dinner alone anymore, because no one feels the need to read during lunch and dinner. It's terrible.
Then there's the Kindle. Shoot me. No bookshelves to admire, no pretty inscriptions on the first page of books, no bookmarks, no gifting books on birthdays and anniversaries, no satisfaction of turning pages, no reading on the pot for fear it'll fall in, no second hand books to imagine what the previous owner was like, none of it. What you're left feeling like is that you're reading one long-ass text message. Who knows, years from now I might be reduced to it myself, but I darn well won't be happy about it.
I think it's time I bought a smart-phone. I'm so wary of it though. When Man's laptop died a couple of days ago, she was telling me how much free-er she felt, how she suddenly had so much time on her hands. What if the smart-phone will just make it worse? Just contribute to the stress of constantly being in touch with the universe, in ways that don't even matter to begin with. Gluck.
This is the quintessence of entropy, I assume.
Didam used to say something I always found rather lame: "God is my love and Books are my friends." From her collection of books I do know that I am atleast fifth-generation prolific reader. What if fifth and last?
To all my kindred spirits,
All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Read on!
SV.
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