finally! i feel alive again. i feel a strange lightness in me. a hmm or a buzz if you will. for a while now i've been sad that no book has kept my attention fixed for more than 10 minutes..... had i really lost interest in a passtime, once so dear to me?
but then A sent me a link. to the professor , C Bronte. and ofcourse! stayed up half the night and did not stir till i finished the book. it was done in 1 night flat.
it wasn't enough and i needed another. i could feel the old madness descending. i can't remember when was the last time i went crazy like this. i found another. now its been 2 days.. and i still hadn't finished. 15 more , then 10 more , then 5 more.. the chapters steadily dwindled, and yet monday was here..
for the first time in a long long time i thought about not going. well i had stayed up till 2AM and my eyes were a little blurry. but i stumbled in to the office. there was just too much to do. and my mind was too bzz'd up to actually read the book. but tuesday. enough was enough. i walked in, checked email and continued to read the book. i must finish !
ha! so i did. and both the professor and villette are excellant books. extraordinarily exquisite. the characters are drawn so subtly and so fine.. that you feel you could touch them and they'd be solid like you or me. [ also i always write with a very markedly different touch after i read the classics, you'll just have to bear it. ]
aaha ! atlast once again a book where a sentence is almost a page. where it takes slow thinking to understand what the author means.. where its not junk food for the brain. my brain is abuzz.
you can't help but feel the feelings , that the author wishes you to. the suffering , the joys, the suspense of the characters become your own. always a fan of the bronte sisters. one day i hope i have the courage to re-read the wuthering hights. the one and only time i read it, i felt such strong sensations that really i don't think i could go through it again. all that anguish and all that despair. i've only read it so exquisitely defined in the victorian books.
what is it about that era , that made them so pathos. and so surreal ??
not rude, not crass, not vulgar at all. something fine in their sentiment [ or atleast portrayed as such ]
hmm i don't think i can get anyting done today. and already i can feel the pull towards another book. just one more whisphers the voice .. one more. just a few more chapters.. no harm could possibly come of it. but after the last two nights of 3 hour naps instead of sleep.. i'm not sure i can afford another book. ofcourse the temptation is strong. just the first few pages, the voices continue. but i try to remember why i stopped reading for a while in between.
reading is a dangerous addiction for me. i don't eat, barely sleep, don't move, don't talk to anyone. ha! i see you scoffing at me. you don't believe! you think i simply exaggerate. well never you mind it then. what do i care?? to me, i feel it. its a single minded obsession that pulls me on and on.. continously towards the last page... to know what will happen.. i need to know, and need to know now. and if someone in the book dies. well never mind....
yes. it is time to step away. and take a breather. but i wonder how long before i slip back in .....
Faria sentido se eu entendesse!
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