Lately, I've been reading a lot of books. I've always loved reading, but I haven't lately because when I read, it means I don't do anything else. I barely sleep, I forget to eat, I don't go out to run the errands I had planned. Everything around me freezes until I have finished the book and can finally put it down. Even books that are by no means spectacular, grasp me in such a way that I find myself at a loss of where the entire day went. The books I just read were: First Person Plural- Andrew W.M. Beirele, House Rules- Jodi Picoult, and A Secret Kept- Tatiana De Rosnay. They were all pretty good books. None of them replacing my favourite book by any means. I think what I love most about reading is that you get completely absorbed in the characters, the plot, the setting. You empathize with those characters. You develop a deep understanding of them. The same goes for the more villainous characters within the novel. You want them to change, or pay for what they've done. Some characters get under your skin and you want to smack them. Others, you cry for. I don't believe that I can read a book, without developing an attachment to them. Some characters and stories I still think about, even though I read the books they lived in long, long ago.
This morning I mostly feel... Thoughtful. I'm sitting at the kitchen table with some hot tea, gazing out the window and writing this. There's a lot that has been bouncing around in my head lately. The future, the past, myself, family, friends, strangers, life and death.
I've been thinking a lot about suicide lately. NOT about me committing suicide! I love life much too much, but just that people do. I can't imagine getting to a point in my life where that would seem like the only answer to your problems. The only solution you can see. I can't imagine getting to a point where I would actually believe that nobody cared for me. I can't even imagine it. I don't understand why people would think that death is the easiest way out. Or that anyone could be so selfish as to not think of the ones that they would be hurting. Their family, their friends. What made me start to think about this, is that last week, two separate friends, told me of two separate people that had committed suicide last week. One was a Father. The other was a younger brother. The book I read yesterday had two suicides within it's pages as well. I have no idea what I would do if either of my dad's killed themselves. Never mind my little sister. What would you do? I would feel guilty that I hadn't made them happy enough to choose life. And then I would hate them for making me feel guilty about their choice. No matter how alone you feel or desperate you are, I don't believe death is ever the answer. It's a cowardice choice. There is always a way out. There is always another solution. Life is short enough as it is. Why would you end it on purpose before you truly lived it. Why wouldn't you think of the other people around you? As much as life can be hard, I believe that there are amazing moments thrown in so that you can get through the hard times.
Today I should clean and look for a new job. Maybe pick up a new book... I'm thinking
Gone With The Wind. I should start that after I actually get something accomplished though. I should also get some drawing done. I want to make something to give to my Great Aunt. She doesn't have much time left, after she suffered from a brain bleed about a month ago. It's been hard on my mom. Really hard. Hard to see the person we all knew literally disappear before our eyes. Her desire to live, and her love of life has gone. She's been drained of that spark within her that we all saw and loved. It's hard to see that. When it comes my time to die, I want the people closest to me to still see me as
me. To know that I love all of them. I want to smile everyday. Right up to my dying day.
