| Is this my song? |
[Jan. 22nd, 2009|11:48 pm] |
I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok today
I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok today
( ... )
I'm about half-way through The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.
Still on my book list are Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, and then Virginia Woolf's own A Room of One's Own, in addition to Where the Girls Are: Growing Up Female with the Mass Media and The Second Sex. Don't despair, though, my reading list isn't entirely feminist works: despite my hatred of John Steinbeck, I have The Grapes of Wrath on my list, as well as There Are No Children Here, The Hot Zone, and Bad Blood: The Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment.
It's strange, how my tastes have changed. I have trouble remembering the last sci-fi/fantasy book I read... perhaps Dead After Dark which, despite how much I like True Blood, was a bit of a disappointment. Maybe I'll read the next book in the series after the next season of True Blood is finished (Fall 2009?). I don't know what happened; I simply do not want to read about overcoming that Great Evil (TM) or meeting one's True Love (c). I can't believe it anymore; my mind screams "This isn't true, this is all false, all wrong!" with each page. I want truth. I want ugly, petty, unfair, tangled truth, with all its unhappy endings and unfinished stories.
Maybe it's because I think it -- and, perhaps, I -- won't be okay? |
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