Escapism

Reading is like swimming. At least, that's how I like to think of it. A piece will either take you in a little,( swimming across the surface), or consume you, (scubba diving.)

I  like the pieces that pull me in. 

I like to be so caught up that I don't know when people are talking to me, that everyone's left the room, that we've reached our destination, that it's closer to sunrise than sunset all the sudden. 

Apparantly I'm more subseptable to this when I don't want to think about my own life.

My rabbit died early Wednesday morning. 

After taking care of necessary things, and crying too much, I spent the afternoon reading. Now its all I want to do, like an addiction. I'm trying to finish a book that's about 800 pages before I start in on my required reading for the semester. I probably won't pull it off, but I don't mind the idea of spending most of my time reading. 

Of course times of sadness are not the only time I feel this way. Once I get going it's hard to stop. Sometimes it's like that with writing. I get an idea or charecter in my head and just go. 

I'm gone, oblivious to the world, until its spent. Then the real work comes.