read

i read raymi’s book yesterday that i have been waiting to read since i first saw a review of it on some former blogger’s site. a former blogger who will go unnamed. you can get it by clicking the cover, but you need a credit card to buy it, which i do not have, so i had to wait until someone else who did would lend me their stable-credit-rating-bought copy.

it took me about 47 minutes to read the 92 pages about how her life has worked out thus far cuz of depression and alcohol. and this was meant to be a review and for me to tell you all of the reasons why you should read the book, but it hit me differently so i don’t have much to say except read the book. it’s worth the $16.99 and you will want to lend it to anyone who is even mildly mental or a drinkaholic.

but to do it a bit more justice and make this more about her than me, my favorite parts:

“it was obvious that i was clearly fucked up but not their kind of fucked up.”

“smoking cigarettes is a big part of your day. you spread it out between programs and eating. every few days you bathe and once you’re in the shower you realize it’s the most enjoyable time of the week cuz it’s like you are stopping time and going forward through it simultaneously. you don’t have to see anybody, you don’t have to speak, you daydream like crazy, standing up in burning hot water and if you are lucky you will fall and hit your head.”

“like see there is an enchanting girl over there and she has a pretty face and is also a well-seasoned drinker and she will definately be mean to you. guys love that shit i guess maybe because they think they can rear her and save her and change her and make all the demons go away.

i always go look man, you don’t want to have anything to do with me, you don’t want me for a girlfriend, you don’t even want a one night stand out of me.

it’s as if all those words i said magically turned into i will make your every last dream come true.”

okay, so now to me: the way this book hit me was that i mentally went OH FUCK. because now, what am i supposed to write about? yes, world, the narcissist in me has been brought to the forefront by this novel.

so then i occurs to me, if imitation is supposed to be the best form of flattery, would writing the book that i’ve had at the back of my mind for the past decade plus be flattering, or just insulting, because, honestly, isn’t imitation also just a different way of saying “you did this first, but i think i can add to it or make it better, so here’s my version”?

that being thought, now i have a different concept of what i want to write about. and the title is “there is no me.” and that is all that i can say about that right now until i see if i actually do anything with it, since i’ve never actually completed anything 100% in my whole life.