Q
Quiet. Its time to sleep, but I disobey the laws of nature and stay awake. I want to read. Its funny how often I talk of reading, and yet when I think about it, I dont even read that often. I suppose, in some way, it must be my missing it that makes me long for it so much. I can remember, as if only a few yesterdays ago, when I was in first grade and reading under the desk while I was supposed to be working. It was unproductive, but it was good; whats more, it didnt exactly matter that I did it. Back then, my conscience never told me not to read. I did what I wanted, I suppose. But it still felt right back then. Now it never will. I will always have some kind of nagging worry in the back of my mind, telling me to be productive and get work done: fill out scholarships, do my homework, go to work, pay my bills, do my taxes, get the groceries, go there, do that, do this. Never again will I be able to sit a desk, carefree, and relax with a good book. Oh of course I will read and enjoy it; I will think myself lost in the adventure, unawares of the outside world. But it will never be the same- it will always be a faux of the real thing back in those old days. There will always be a part of my brain heavy with the knowledge of the outside world. It is almost sad to realize this. So much lost. But why be sad when it is unevitable?
Quiet. Its time to sleep, but I disobey the laws of nature and stay awake. I want to read. Its funny how often I talk of reading, and yet when I think about it, I dont even read that often. I suppose, in some way, it must be my missing it that makes me long for it so much. I can remember, as if only a few yesterdays ago, when I was in first grade and reading under the desk while I was supposed to be working. It was unproductive, but it was good; whats more, it didnt exactly matter that I did it. Back then, my conscience never told me not to read. I did what I wanted, I suppose. But it still felt right back then. Now it never will. I will always have some kind of nagging worry in the back of my mind, telling me to be productive and get work done: fill out scholarships, do my homework, go to work, pay my bills, do my taxes, get the groceries, go there, do that, do this. Never again will I be able to sit a desk, carefree, and relax with a good book. Oh of course I will read and enjoy it; I will think myself lost in the adventure, unawares of the outside world. But it will never be the same- it will always be a faux of the real thing back in those old days. There will always be a part of my brain heavy with the knowledge of the outside world. It is almost sad to realize this. So much lost. But why be sad when it is unevitable?
