Damn, I’ve been totally out of it lately. Well, “out of it” meaning that I haven’t exactly been living in “this world”, like, you know… “R-E-A-L-I-T-Y”? Oh love, thy name is fiction!
Normally, living in a fictitious world doesn’t constitute a lot of problems for me. I watch sooooo many shows – really, you don’t want to know how many, it’s ridiculous. However, I’m usually pretty good at not losing myself too much in them. Of course I’m totally involved in the stories on my screen, but it’s not that much of an effort to turn it off. When it comes to books though… Oh gosh, I’m a helpless little kitten, meowing for someone to pet me, to give me some milk; please I just want a reason to PURR!
Ahem, anyways… In the last 2 weeks (15 days), I have read no less than
16 books 18 books (edit: whoops, forgot two others) and 3 novellas. And no, that’s not a joke. It’s completely real. All books had a length of about 400-500 pages. And I just absolutely PLOWED through them. I don’t know what happened, honestly. I’m like the bulimic who ate an entire pie in 3 minutes and looks up wondering where it all went. Is this normal? Can human beings actually eat this much this fast? Maybe there really wasn’t a pie. Maybe it was a nightmare. Or a very yummy dream. And how bad is it really? To eat an entire pie, filled with pudding and the most godly strawberries. It’s definitely not the worst thing to ever happen. Right? Like… Gosh… Maybe I should go for a run, because, well, oh shit.
So yeah, that’s me. Not the pie-part though. Or the bulimic part. Geez, I can eat but I’m not freaking Superman. But the book thing, yeah, it totally happens that things sort of get out of control. Well, to be more clear, it’s a little thing called “suspension of disbelief”. I don’t know why, but besides the fact that I already love getting lost in another world – hello, my addiction to tv shows? – it’s like 10 times more consuming when it comes to books. Especially when they’re serialized. Oh sweet daemon babies of Hades I’m like a total addict with junkie veins when it comes to serialized books. I’ll simply devour them. I’ll forget what time it is and suddenly hear birds chirping at 7am, remembering that I’m supposed to be sleeping. All I’ll be interested in is that world… That beauteous and compelling world that’s got me hooked like a fat kid loves cake. Just, damn!
And that’s suspension of disbelief: giving up your own reality for another one. It’s the whirlwind of an entire world taking down the walls of your own universe, letting that fictitious world shimmer through. And it’s not just the endless page-turning that gets to me, it’s the emotions a story can make you feel. It’s that horrible feeling when a book ends and you are snapped back to your own reality, your mind reeling from the blast.
It’s that moment when I can’t feel ashamed for those tears that are trickling down, because in that moment, I am never more alive. Which, I guess, is somewhat ironic, given the fact that none of it is actually “real”. But of course, I am actively suspending to believe in the non-reality of said fictitious world – if that makes any sense to you. And… I’m guessing the snake’s devouring its own tail right about here, yes? No? I don’t know anymore. My mind is a blurry, hazy thing trying to figure out what’s real versus… Not real, hehe.
Anyways, just wanted to justify my complete absence from anything social, since… Well, I was out of town, kinda. Living in different realities. Getting lost in personas so much cooler than my own. I mean, who wouldn’t want to kick ass on a daily basis, only to fall into a hot, tall, dark Russian guy’s arms afterwards? Like, am I wrong here? Ha! I think not.
But obviously I do realize I can’t hide forever. Sure, reading fiction is totally based on the awesomeness that is escapism. But real life beckons and I hope to, while not completely obtain, at least strive for some awesomeness in my own life. And if reality would like to grant me that in the form of a hot Russian guy, who am I to deny such offerings?