I finished a book today. That's a rare thing for me these days. I'm not even sure the last time I finished a book. I start books, easy-peasy. They litter whatever sleeping area I'm in. But finishing is a thing worth celebrating, so I am. By writing this.
The book was American Gods by Neil Gaiman. I was given the annotated version for Christmas by the family I am staying with.
Whenever I think of Neil Gaiman, I think of this time when I was in mid-twenties at a bar and I overheard a woman say that she would without a doubt fuck any guy that was a fan of Neil Gaiman. So I approached her and said I really enjoyed the Sandman comics and she looked at me for a second, then slightly shook her head and walked away.
I thought it was funny then. I think it's funny now.
But anyway American Gods was fine. I am curious to watch the TV show, but would also be fine never watching it.
What I did love though was the act of reading it today.
There was a snow that turned to rain. School was canceled due to the snow so the kids stayed upstairs watching movies.
And I lay on the couch in the basement with a book and soft music. The cats sleeping on my legs, purring whenever I scratched their necks.
I was going to say that I'm proud of myself for winning the cats over as they were quite shy and distant when I first arrived, but I wonder now if they were just playing the long game. Knowing that if I had to work for their affection, I would appreciate it more. Not like the dogs who plead and demand attention all the time.
I had this fantasy today that I was living in a small farm house or little cottage by a lake and had a fire going in front of me while I read and snuggled with cats. And God, it seems so nice. I haven't lived alone since the end of 2017. I want so badly to live somewhere alone and away full of books and quiet.
Sometimes I imagine a someone there, but even then I imagine them as visitors. Sex and pancakes and walks but also arrivals and departures. Bittersweet as both always are.
But as someone who was frequently homeless or on the verge of it all through my twenties and thirties, who hasn't made more than $20,000 in a year in my lifetime, who isn't working now and has panic attacks whenever I try to apply to something, (and so forth and etc),
living alone in a cottage or farmhouse or even apartment seems like a distant and impossible dream.
But I had a taste of it today. I spent a whole day reading. And I finished a god damn book.
And that's nice.
And maybe things will turn out alright somehow.
Somehow maybe I'll survive. Maybe even more than that.
Regardless there is now and now isn't so bad.
Not so bad at all.
9:46 p.m. - 2022-01-20
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