What if you are reading a book, and you find yourself dragging out finishing it. I find this happening now and am wondering if what is this fear of not wanting to put it to bed. It feels like a small death. But, you say, why and when there are so many good books to read? Why I am being so foolish? I don’t know, if I keep it going, diving back into a faraway place and out, I may somehow will make me that think that life doesn’t end. But I know even more so now that my end is closer than the beginning was. I even dreamt about this a few times at night. And I thought that I would live forever. Damn fool! I am still a bit pissed about this, because even since I was a kid watching all the science miracles and cryonics, I thought by now they have figured out a way to put your brain in a new body. Fat chance, and even if they could with my luck and my brain, it would end up being worse than what I have now. And who really wants an old damaged brain in a young body… eeeks! Kids are going up too fast as it is! So back to my book, I know deep down this can’t be the cause that I am just not setting aside enough time for a brain injured person(me) to read. I can’t read on a bus or when it is noisy. Same with talking, the more input the harder conversation is, so I have to switch to being a listener more. There is always a positive spin on things. I was thinking about this while talking to a friend, as I get older I am more able to see the subtleties of life. The slight upward cadence of a person’s voice when they are happy to talk to you, as well as the slight downward tone that can be a wide variety of causes, from being busy to not happy to talk at this moment. As a listener, I see when people have to talk, even when there is nothing important to say. So, now I have to finish this smart book Finding Orwell In Burma, to change my perspective at this moment. We only really have this moment.
