Wednesday, March 23, 2011


Alright, so I mentioned earlier that I was reading The Great Gatsby, because I have this goal to read a bunch of the novels that most people read in school, but somehow I never had to. The latest on this list is Catcher in the Rye. And, honestly, between these two novels I'm completely confused as to why we study these things. I'm apparently just missing something, because I'm not seeing anything worth studying in either of those books.

This really just makes me wonder why people think the books that I really enjoy are just "fluff". At least I get something out of them. So far in Catcher in the Rye, all I want to do is strangle Holden Caulfield. Though, wait... maybe that's the point? Is it? Because isn't this the book that the guy who killed John Lennon was reading? That he said drove him to do it? Maybe dude just got really confused and pissed off at Holden and shot John instead?....

Seriously, I really just don't get it... Anybody got any explanations?

Oh, remember you can see my reading time line here:
(Psst... there's also a widget on the right side of the page, anytime you wanna check it out...)

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

It's March

There are so many reasons why this is bad, not the least of which is that it means my birthday is almost upon us. I'm not anti-birthday, I'm not afraid of getting older, but I dislike realizing that I'm starting another year in an unhappy place. I'm just not at the place in my life that I'd like to be at the age that I am.

I know that's really all on me. It's not anyone else's fault. And at some points in the last month I thought I was making changes. Unfortunately, those things didn't come to fruition. And I'm still working on it. But my birthday often becomes an excuse for me to wallow in the unhappiness that I try to ignore every other moment.

I don't know, maybe I'm just overly sensitive about the whole thing. But I watch friends, and others, moving ahead with their lives, and then I see mine, seemingly stagnant and it's frustrating. I don't think I'm any less worthy of the good, nor do I think I work any less at trying to make my life better. And yet, here I sit. And there's nothing particularly wrong with where I am, it's just not where I'd like to be.

And on that note, the melancholy sets in, and I'll spend the rest of the night mulling it all over, and trying to think my way out of it.