Roy > Recent Status Updates

Lord, that’s the first time in ages that I’ve enjoyed reading literature as of old.

The only difference is that my coffee was decaf this time. Besides that, the reading at a humane cafe with excellent performances of classical music by Vasks and Saint-Saëns through my noise-cancelling earbuds while enjoying the coffee has been nigh identical to the times when I was doing this on a weekly basis.

‘Normal’ people are so frustrating.

Especially because they don’t exist.

And yet still force their ‘normal’ ways on you.

This stuff really is annoying me. The neutrality they employ feels naive to me. Even though I used to approach life in a way similar to ‘neutral’.

Ugh.

This kind of annoys me. But it’s also good.

It’s just drenched in that frustratingly dispassionate, distant energy that 9 out of 10 times seems so inauthentic, functional, instrumental, and definitely not genuine.

But this seems to be that 1 out of 10.

This book kind of normalises my lived experience in daily life. It’s odd.

Normally, I cringe at books such as this. But, I’m considering to pursue a career as a change consultant, and the firm I’m interested in listed this book as one they’re inspired by. So, I figured I’d give it a try.

So far, I’m surprised by how okay I am reading this. It’s a bit superficial for my usual tastes, but it does give me an idea of how my perspective applies to a more ‘common’ context.

I actually returned… because I wanted to know how the short story would end…

Now, the continuation wasn’t all that exciting, and there wasn’t even truly an ending at all… but that’s hardly the point anymore…

I actually wanted to continue reading! My interest is showing clear signs of life again!

However slight those may be.

That was much more soothing than anticipated. It felt like the good old days of reading, albeit muted through my current condition.

Reading’s happening more easily again…

But now there’s some kind of refusal to read, even though I’m relatively smoothly moving over that bump before landing in that steady stream.

Felt like reading old British literature again. It’s the kind of weather for it. Cold, crisp, dry, lucid — and now dark.

Reading requires too much light now.

I believe that was the first peaceful train reading session in ages, if not at all.

My body doesn’t want this right now. My body doesn’t want any having right now.

That’s why it’s so tense. Too much having and constriction for the past years.

This warm sunlight in November is gorgeous, even though it’s not what is supposed to happen now. Usually, I adore the fresh clarity November can bring.

But now, it is exactly what I need. November, too, is done with having and constriction.

Soft reconnection.

That was a short little moment of feeling familiar, normal.

God, I really have to rebuild my concentration and delayed gratification. It’s been utterly demolished and destroyed during the last year.

It’s just not the same…

It’s funny how I have to relearn to read.

Specifically just starting to. I still feel a minor obstruction in doing so. Even though it used to be the most self-evident action.

Little by very little…

Reading this makes me see and feel how far I strayed from the path I used to be on.

That’s no judgment, only an observation.

It’s really good reading this.

Intelligently eccentric.

Lent to me by a dear friend today, who helped me open up some things I held closed for too long — although perhaps not longer than I should have.

This is a nice little start to get back into literary theory. I’m not quite feeling it yet, even though I know I would have two years ago.

Another session in which I return to my former ritual.

Could it be that I will, slowly, return to reading?

Will I combine my vita contemplativa with a vita activa, soon?

Could it be? A return to novel reading?

Finished the texts written by Hesse himself.

I truly wonder if I can ever read like I used to again.

And if I can’t, what kind of reading will emerge.


Perhaps returning to fiction in novel length will rekindle a flame.

Reading has become such an odd activity ever since my Italian journey, my unhealthily tempestuous relationship, and the period that followed which I can only faithfully describe as a spiritual awakening.

I'm nearing the end of recovery, but I'm no longer driven like I used to be. It's becoming peace, calmth and tranquility - but it is not quite, yet.

I'm no longer driven to read to find mirroring.

Reading at a terrace under the sun doesn’t feel like it used to.

But then again, neither am I wholly who I used to be.

Nor who I am to be.

I would like to finally finish a book, or something even slightly substantial, again, though. It’s been too long. A slight revolt to the drag of daily life. Even if still an offering to its altars of productivity.

It’s quite the shift to be reading something such as this again.

I might even want to do some academic philosophy first.

Or just spend some more time reading and sleeping in general.

First time in over a year that I’m properly returning to my daily evening ritual of my life before the traumatic relationship and my Italian journey: a glass tankard of fresh herb tea, Hermanos Gutiérrez through my speakers, and a book, laying down on the couch.

I think I might be able to settle into this, after all. Until I’ve finally graduated, that is.