I had a lousy day yesterday. I don't want to get into the details, but suffice it to say it sucked. There really wasn't anything anyone could say to me yesterday to make it better. So I go to where I get the most comfort. Books.
I've always escaped into books whether it was fiction or non-fiction. I was an only child and while I really liked being an only, it did have its lonely times. Television didn't offer much and video games consoles in the home were unheard of so I turned to books. My folks bought all kinds of encycloipedias when I was a baby. Apparently they were convinced by some slick salesman this was the way to best prepare a child for the modern world. I believe there was one whole volume dedicated to the propisition that a man may someday walk on the moon! Anyway, even before I could read I poured through the those books. And when I did start reading, I found myself lost in those pages.
When puberty hit along with all of the overwhelming angst it brings, I found comfort in reading. They took me away to exotic places where girls didn't get pimples and boys...well, they were nothing like the toads I mingled with on a daily basis. Those novels got me through some really tortuous years. In college I read as a relief from the stress of studying. Yeah, I read for school, but it wasn't fun reading, fiction gave me yet another place to go which didn't have mid-terms and pain in the butt roommates.
As an adult, I once again find solace in a good book. Television and movies don't provide the depth of involvment a book does. When I get caught up in a story, it lingers in my head even when I'm not reading. I spend part of my time thinking about what is going to happen next. Like an Advil, it takes the edge of whatever mental miseray I'm going through at the time. It is truly a snuggie for the soul.
Today I'm fine. However, I'm really into the book I'm reading. I don't have the excuse of a bad day to go hide with my book. Sigh...guess I will have to make up soemthing.