I told you I’ve had trouble read now for many years. I really did once devour books of any type and with glee. I do not have the drive to as often and yet that old stinky sock feeling of comfort of not being able to remove my nose from a story has returned.
I told you more careful readers that I’ve attempted many books but I think I only finished illusions by richard bach this year barring me actually reading over my own notes.
I’ve picked up “reading lolita in Tehran.” this book is of literary discovery within what we called a supressive society. I normally cant read utter depression and connect with the smaller joys without a dark sense of humor. I.e. I do like a bit of classic russian literature even if the craps too long. but here I am actually hoping for the characters to delve into a meaningful experience I don’t believe I’ve often experienced, the joy of wanting to share with others our letest discovery. there neve were long nights of heady passions of discussions with others about education. sure I have this here outlet to be zanily me. i do get responses. but it is rare to share a common experience. to connect. perhaps I am hooked and keep turning the pages.
I also am at a profession loss lately for reinventing the wheel which isn’t a great idea considering my culture and the resistance to change….yet the mood is less and less participatory. I do take joy someone bops a ballong that normally wont. and a few isms i can get them to repeat of who they are. I have upped my campaign for interest to seemingly no avail after months. that lone aspect is a bit of a disappointment despite almost genuine enthusiasm on my part combined with a daring to try little new things….which means my progress isn’t fast but if I don’t lose patience, I will likely succeed. read above now and see if i seem again to connnect with my passions and remember however useless they are as professional activities, the enjoyment of reading and discovery still can be mine and I am trying to share this although, tv watching literally is still held in more esteem as a known habit versus mr likely to read something inappropriate ‘s literary hours. “the master came unto us born into the holy land of indianna. raised in the mystical hills east of fort wayne” this goes over like a fart in catholic heavenly church. the line is from ricahaard bach’s illusions.