Lately, I've been pretty conflicted by my views on movies and books. I enjoy them, they transport me. I am afraid that I am not living my life fully by absorbing myself in someone else's life so wholly. I've read three books in less than two weeks. What could I have done during that time to experience reality? Am I masking my life behind fiction? During work I read profusely. There honestly isn't much else for me to do, especially in the realm of experience, so I feel it may be appropriate then. Yet, when I get home, instead of stepping outside and seeing new things, I yearn to step inside and experience someone else's cooked-up travels. A life or experience that someone else has created to entertain whoever may pick up the book or movie. Makes me sad, even sick.

Perhaps I should stick to non-fiction or documentary? But then, will I still be experiencing something that wasn't meant to be my experience, even though it really happened?

Ugh, I need a motrin. To dull yet another of my own stone-cold realities. Cramps.

Edit:

Revelations! No, not the hair-raising short story in the you-know-what. Realizations, may them be small or large, that may change your day or change your life. Today, it was somewhere in between.