A Thought

Had a late dinner which regrettably consisted of six cups of water,had to wake up to pee and now I'm fully awake,having to wither away the next few hours until I feel sleepy again.I just wrote a long,mind-numbingly negative post that was written angrily,and I decided to rub it all of-because it only matters if you choose it to.

Plus I'm in the process of allowing more light into my life,and such unbearable amounts of anger and negativity would have me at the point of emotional recklessness,which is simply no good at all.So let's leave that at that.

Been reading Zadie Smith's On Beauty.I think it came out a couple years back and I proceeded to purchase the book after seeing the author named as one of the 100 Most Important People back then by Time mag,the good reviews I had read also became encouragement.But when I did start to read the book,I found it slightly meatless and dead-about 5 chapters in and the characters had established themselves as the intolerable in their own personal ways,so I put the book down and moved on to something else.I rarely not finish a book unless it's really a letdown and continuing seems not worthy a choice,like Tony Parsons Stories We Could Tell was-his previous books revolving around families were marvellous,but when he wrote about music,rock stars,drugs and so on it became obvious the stuff was rubbish.But about a week ago I started On Beauty again,from the start-this time carefully paying attention,and I realise it's a really fantastic book-though slightly weighed down by the first few chapters that lack any enthusiasm but is full of empty conflict.But once that's over and the attention shifts back to family ties and the author takes time to develop the characters-sometimes through interaction with others and dialogue,sometimes by going behind the character's mind-the story takes on a different form that is much more lively and interesting.And sometimes when I read a book it starts to get tediously dull but I have to finish it,but with On Beauty I read the sentences slowly,a couple of times,until I fully comprehend the going-on's and have a clear idea of what the author tries to say.It's as if,if I finish the book without appreciating the story and the magnificence of the story,I'd be disappointed with myself.I came across the poem below weeks ago and left it bookmarked,and everytime I read it I discover something new once discreetly hidden between meanings.

A thought went up my mind to-day
That I have had before,
But did not finish,--some way back,
I could not fix the year,
Nor where it went,nor why it came
The second time to me,
Nor definitely what it was,
Have I the art to say.
But somewhere in my soul,
I know I've met the thing before;
It just reminded me--'t was all--And came my way no more.

Emily Dickinson