fiction

I just completed my The Brief and Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao. It is the first piece of fiction that I have finished in a very long time. In fact, I can't remember finishing anything since the split up. Maybe I did in Hawaii but I don't think so.I know I tried over Christmas but I believe it was a flop. Finally, even with tons of school pressure, I have done it. Sure, it was only 335 pages but it still took time, energy, and focus -- 3 things that I find myself lacking most days. On page 327 the tears came. The cries are horribly strange these days. They feel so enveloping from deep to surface. The deep feels normal but the surface is so odd. The sound is annoying and the quick shakes so unlike what short cries used to be. It comes so fast and so easy. And then I push it away. Usually it leaves this aching in my left arm. It actually goes all the way down the left side of my back, if I really think about it. But I also feel it radiating and a strange ache around my ulna. Listen to me try to practice my anatomy. Anyway, it was a good book. It was not mind blowing, life altering, or anything. It was funny at times, sad a lot of the time. At the heart of it, it is for sure a story of family, a story of culture, a story about love. Isn't that what it always boils down to anyway?

I'm exhausted now and I have a long day of studying ahead. I hope I can sleep and I don't begin seeing faceless men and the Mongoose. Sometimes I think I would actually better off, though. Sometimes it feels like my life is would at the very least be more interesting and poignant if it had a few more elements of good fiction.