Bookish Struggles//So mature
Ha! Me, mature. Pfft.
Kaixo! This has been a long time coming and I actually took the time to mush up all the painful things we (I hope it's 'we' and not me being a weirdo) suffer with.
Reading is amazing and a healing process.
But it is also extremely horrifying and destroying.
Isn't that so nice? It's like going into therapy and getting out worse than you came in. Also, 'family gatherings'. They're pretty much a game of luck, at this point.
Some books we adore, some books we don't. But there's always a consistent theme... the struggles that ail us.
Which I'll most likely be butchering during this, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
Starting with my most common one that actually happened to me yesterday (and the day before that and the day before THAT)
1. 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟓𝟎𝟎+ 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞.
Color me surprised. I've deleted games, photos, crappy books, and then I see the little infuriating notification saying:
Storage is almost full.
Excuse me, hi. How can you do this to me?? I fed you charging electricity, I accidentally spilled water on you (that doesn't count), have cleaned you up and still. You warn me of storage? How dare thee undermine my authority, you filthy peasant.
Nonetheless, I'll delete more things.
You don't have to get feisty with me, is all.
2. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞.
I literally HAVE a sufficient amount of bookmarks, but when I'm reading? Where are they? Nowhere to be found. I've used the weirdest things to save my place on a book.
Toilet paper (don't judge, at least once, we've all read in the bathroom. Sometimes that's the only way to read in peace)
Socks (I seriously have no idea, but it happened)
Other smaller books (what? The other book was right there)
Pencils, erasers, notebooks (when I actually willingly use school supplies)
Clothes hangers, actual pieces of clothing. (I admit it, it has occurred recently)
Jewelry and hair ties. (no wonder I can never seem to find those)
And my personal favorite... BOBBY PINS. (And I ask myself once again. Why?? I literally have to sacrifice my future unborn child to be able to find one when I need it. Where can I find them easily? When I need a bookmark)
3. 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈'𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.
And I'm 300 pages in. *aggressive clapping* WOW, how could I have something easy and simple when I can work for it.
The amount of times this has happened to me just hurts my soul. And you know what I do? I push through. Resulting in, what?
4. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐩.
I am at least 99.999999999 percent sure, that most of us have experienced this hellhole. It constitutes as wanting to read, but of course, not wanting to read. (so smart)
I've noticed approximately three variations of the book slump:
The Deer in Headlights: This one just stares at you. Conniving in it's innocent nature, daring you to press the gas pedal to get away, when BAM! It smashes into your windshield, killing you in seconds. This variation mostly occurs when you're reading and maybe it's not the best book, but whatever, you want to finish it. You most likely get up from the perch of darkness to get a snack, returning to read, and... nothing. You don't want to read. And it's simple, however, extremely frustrating. Scratch that, all of them are extremely frustrating. And maybe you knew it was a possibility to encounter this slump. Still, you ended up dying.
The Assassin: Oh dear, I really hate this one. It just stakes out and waits for you to get into a path of a very well placed bullet. And you don't know that, how could you? How could there possibly be a slump present when you're actually enjoying a book? Ha! Well it is present. And as always, you end up dead. WHy? Because you forgot to close the windows with impenetrable diamond coverage.
Apocalypse: Yep, it is a thing. This one differs from the rest because you actually are 100 percent sure it's coming. Like, no doubt about it. You prepared with provisions (buddy reads, binge reading, mindless rom coms, re-reading) and are ready to face it. And then you start freaking out because HOLY CRAP, IT'S ACTUALLY HAPPENING AND I FORGOT TO BRING MY DORITO DUST. Alas, the zombies are already attacking the house, windows are getting shattered, doors are caving in, blood gets drowned in, bones get pulverized. And brains end up non existent. If you had one in the first place. *snort* It is painful, aggravating and dumb. Still, I bet you have friends who will lend you a hand or a gun, to get out of that place. Either that or you end up a mess on the floor begging for resurrection, and chances are, your parents are already used to this behavior and your dog just accepts that he has a mentally unstable owner. Speaking for a friend, of course.
5. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.
Does it make sense? Not exactly. Do I still do it? Yes. And do I still hate myself when I have nobody to talk about said book, because duh, how could they know IF I NEVER TOLD THEM? Oh, pfft, yes. And this is a consequence of a series of things.
Falling in love with the book, the characters, the setting, everything, and giving it 10 stars out of 5=literally re-reading it continuously until you know exactly what's going to happen, when and at what degree= getting addicted to it's perfection= finding out you can talk to no one about it= being in a depressed state for a while= still having nobody to tell= decide to tell someone= realize 'hey, they could hate it and our friendship would end'= knowing in your heart that maybe they won't like it= still being sad=...= telling someone.
But literally approaching them like:
Me: Hey, you know what?
Me: I need to ask you something.
Them: Oh, okay. What's up?
Me: Well... how do you feel about a book about a badly bullied girl who grows up to be the most sarcastic human being, decides to move to another state, and finding in that state a guy which she becomes enemies with. But not really, because he is gorgeous inside out and of course, how could you resist HIM. They end up getting in lots of amazing fights. The guy is emotionally traumatized and may have daddy issues and the girl is protecting herself immensely against guys who could hurt her. But not really, because she has punched people throughout the book and has actually won fights. And because I don't want to spoil anything... how do you like that so far?
Them: It sounds good.
Me: *thinking* Yeah, they're totally not ready yet.
Me: Oh, gotcha, never mind. What are you reading?
Seriously, it's just sad.
6. 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝟒𝟓𝟖𝟗𝟎𝟗𝟖𝟕𝟔𝟓 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬.
I swear to everything book related, I think I've got a tattoo imprinted from my forehead to my collarbone saying, PLEASE INTERRUPT ME, I AM TOTALLY NOT DOING ANYTHING. Obviously in italics. Because I could be eating, being a life potato, hating on passerby and NO ONE interrupts me. But the SECOND, I open up a book.
"Hey, I need you to clean the house while I go out."
"Hi! Are you doing anything?"
Like, YES Filadelphia, I AM doing something. Unlike you. When's the last time you went to the plastic surgeon anyway? Because your nose is in my business, and I need it to be removed from there. I just wish I could staple a sign to my chest saying, "If you're not on peril danger, interrupt at your own mercy. Cause I ain't gonna give you any." *exasperated grunt* And then I see them a while later doing something on their phones and when I actually need something, I need to repeat myself because THEY DON'T HEAR ME. And THEN they are the one's doing things, because who would've thought reading is actually a thing and not an hallucination of our future ancestors which only we can see. Psh, next time you need something, Delphia, be sure that at least it's a broken leg. For that's all you're going to recieve.
Also, if I'm reading in the bathroom. And you KNOW I'm reading. Don't knock on my goshdarned door every two minutes like you're crafting a ritual. No, I have not drowned in the toilet, and no I haven't fallen. Trust me, my scream has been honed by years of yelling at fictional protagonists. My voice is pretty loud. You'll hear it.
7. 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.
Yes, most of the times I admit that I don't really care. You like what you like, and I'll like what I like. No problem. But then I decide to read the reviews of books I loved stating various things I had not noticed. And read some problematic things in said reviews.
For approximately five minutes afterwards, I feel like the crappiest being ever, because how could I not notice? And then I give away all care and just deal with the fact that maybe I'm a horrendous human being for liking the book as much as I did.
Darn it, but in my defense it was such a good book.
(the fact that I noticed that said 'book' can be any of what I read is actually concerning)
8. 𝐍𝐨𝐰, 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞.
Which shall be the topic of this mini section. *jazz hands* Socializing. I once read a phrase (I think it either was a kid's movie or Pinterest) "Born to read, forced to socialize". And once I read that, it was like angels were raining drenched blessings unto my unworthy greasy hair. It was glorious. Also yes, I do suffer a mini panic induced heart attack every time I have to get sucked into hundreds of receipts and loose packages of gum in my purse in search for the obviously missing book. It's like knowing the world is about to end, but not believing it until you get hit in the face with it. And it comes in the package of someone saying:
"So, tell me all about school! What have you been learning? How's your week been?"
And you have no defense to hide in.
Lady, I appreciate your shallow interest in my concoctions of missing sanity. I truly do. But if I don't remember the snack I ate fifteen minutes ago, how in the world am I supposed to remember what I studied? If I remember how to calculate the slope of a line on any given day, I feel extremely accomplished. Therefore, I take a break of five hours. But that knowledge is intermittent. Explain to me, how in the world will that help me calculate the money I can spend for books, divided by the money for fast food, over the money spent on shopping? I need to know how to do that. Will the slope of the line pay my taxes? Will the slope of the line bring me tissues for my tears after I find out that yet another celebrity crush is already married? Will that slope of the line accompany me on a mid existential crisis even though I am still a teen? I think the heck not. So no, I do not remember what I studied. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have my mother to hurry so I can go home.
Hi! You either read through all that (which um... WOW, I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKED IT) or skipped right towards the end (no offense received) either way, I really hope that you had at least a modicum of entertainment provided by this decaying muffin. And I wish you the happiest of all weeks! Gosh knows Monday will kill us all.