Over the Christmas holidays, I read a really good book.
It made me cry.
Hard.
I think what I did even has a name.
It’s called ugly crying.
And you’d think that’d be good, right? Obviously, the prose really touched me, and that only comes from strong, good quality writing.
Yup. It was all that.
So, things should be good. Great even.
Except, it’s not right now.
Because where I live, we’re back in a pandemic lock-down again and it’s uh, awful.
And reading this book showed me that even though I thought I was doing pretty well. I’m maybe not doing as well as I should be.
I hated ugly crying over a book. It’s just not me.
And reading this book made me realize that I need hope and lightness in my life right now, not sadness.
I also need to get out of the house more.
But I can’t.
Or I’m not supposed to.
Yup, it sucks.
Absolutely and totally sucks.
And, yes, I know I should be happy that my family is healthy and that we have a place to shelter us and all that.
And I am.
Truly.
But honestly, where I live, we’ve been basically locked down for almost two years now, and I’m sick and tired of it. I’m totally over it.
I want to go to restaurants again.
I want to shop without a mask on.
I want to go to concerts and applaud live theatre.
I hate that I couldn’t spend this last Christmas with my Mom and Dad.
I miss my library and I want my small bookstore to reopen fully so I can browse.
I want all the essential workers I know and, even those I don’t, to have their lives back. I want them to put down the load they’ve been carrying and stop having to be heroes. They’ve done more than their fair share.
I want this pandemic and the changes and fear it brings with it to be over.
And I also want to be able to read books that make me cry, and I want to feel free to write wonderful reviews for them and encourage others to read them. I don’t want to stop myself from doing this because they are so heartbreakingly beautiful that they will make already sad people feel even worse.
Does that even make sense?
It doesn’t matter.
All I know is I’m going through my TBR pile this week and picking out all the light-hearted stuff to read.
I don’t want a cathartic cry right now.
And that’s okay. All the sad books will still be there when this is over, and I’m ready to face sadness in all forms again.
And that’ll be soon.
At least I hope it’ll be.
Sigh.
