Over a stormy sky

Reading, and Little Voices

I just realised I don't really read anymore. It's been ages since I've read a novel, and I haven't even been keeping up on buying the latest books I've been waiting for. Usually I'd grab them the moment they appeared on the shelves in hardcover, but now I have no problems waiting an extra year for the mass market paperbacks to come out. Partially, I blame George R R Martin for dragging his feet an unprecedented 4 years for his 'A Dance with Dragons'. This one, on top of anything else by a mile, is what I really want to get my hands on, and all that waiting has dulled my interest following fantasy epics in general. Sharing the blame would be Robert Jordan, who strung me along for 15 years with his 'Wheel of Time' series and then died before he finished the final book.

I also realised that I don't really read the papers anymore. Not fully, anyway. I just end up scanning the articles for keywords and facts, just enough to understand what the point of the article was. No more reading full sentences and deliberating over sentence structure and nuances of phrasing, or appreciating the descriptions of abstract concepts with metaphor and imagery.

Why? I used to love language. When did I get reduced to just becoming a numbers and factoid cruncher? I think it boils down to a systemic degeneration of the quality of my life due to the stress of not being able get a grip on my current work/ph.d situation. When one isn't in control of the situation, fear and guilt and a dose of irrationality mess with the head: On one hand I indulge in bouts of escapism in some areas, on the other I withold deriving pleasure in other areas, as if by spending less time in some 'leisurely' pursuits would correlate with more time spent on what I -should- be doing. Thus, less time reading, playing sports and games, exercising...

A lot of ideas get scrapped in my head simply because I can't justify spending that time when I have so many other things I -should- be doing. It's like the little voice is telling me "if you aren't taking the time to write your reports and read your journal papers and planning your expts, then you can't take the time to enjoy yourself either!"

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In other news, I'm sick, my asthma and allergies are as bad as ever, and the place is a dump. I want to clean out my room(s), but really, how do you begin cleaning out a junkyard? Everything's useful, in some way, and shouldn't be thrown out. But I can't move them elsewhere cos elsewhere is taken up by other junk, which can't be moved either cos there isn't any elsewhere elsewhere to move them to. It's like a mosiac puzzle, and when I think of all the time I need to spend on cleaning up, the little voice goes "Hey, shouldn't you be spending that time on something else MORE important, like your work, or going for a jog?"

And then the other little voice goes "Screw you all! All of you Needs have equal claims to time, so to be fair, none of you are getting any, so you can't complain. I'll just spend what little I have playing Facebook!"

posted by Tempest Blue @ 4:54 PM