Sunday, February 19, 2012

Weekends (and books) for the win

I love weekends. Like, I love weekends. It's not because I go out and watch movies and hang out with my friends and stuff (though I do do all that, on occasion); it's because I can stay at home all day and be as much of a hermit as I like.


It's not that I'm some misanthrope or something (most of the time). I generally like people; I do. But after five days of hustle and bustle, I often find that the only company I want is my own. It's so nice to just stay shut up in my room, reading or playing my guitar or watching videos and movies, alone. The only real form of human interaction I have is with my family, and that's fine. I'm content.


I totally need this for my room door, man.
(From Zazzle.)


Sure, I communicate with people via Twitter, but that's it, for the most part. Sometimes I even ignore my phone, not seeing messages or missed calls till hours later (sorry!). Being around people gets tiring sometimes; I need alone time to sort of recharge my batteries. Weekends are when I shut out the real world and immerse myself in my own, and it's lovely.


I finished the book Janie got me for my birthday yesterday, Sarah Dessen's What Happened to Goodbye. (402 pages in about three and a half hours. I feel rather accomplished.) Sarah Dessen's books all seem to have the same central character, an independent teenage girl in denial about the ton of baggage she has. Then an 'unlikely' guy comes along and helps her with it, and they get together at the end of the book. Always. Yet each story has its own special tweaks here and there, and some lines are just downright quote-worthy. Also, I love how she throws in mentions of characters from her other books; it's a bit like a shared secret between her and her more loyal readers.


Sarah Dessen isn't an author whose books I'd spend my money on. I have three of her books, and all three were presents from Janie. Still, a bit of fluff every now and then is nice. You don't have to think at all when you read, and powering through a book in mere hours always feels good.


What indeed.


A few weeks back, I read Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood. That was a book I took my time with, because it's something you slowly savour rather than devour all at once. In fact, it would be a crying shame if you sped through it, because that is one darn good book. I found myself going through lines and even paragraphs over and over again, just because they were worded so perfectly. Later, to my surprise, I found out that it'd been originally written in Japanese. This book has been translated into more than thirty different languages, that's how good it is! I'm probably going to read it again soon, once I'm done with some other books.


I'm getting back my The Hunger Games trilogy from Sara soon. I plan to spend next weekend in Panem, the Capitol, various districts, and the arenas, without coming up for air unless absolutely necessary. Once I'm done with those, I'm going to get started on The Great Gatsby. (This has nothing to do with it being the favourite book of the central character in Norwegian Wood, I promise.) I also have a Mark Haddon novel I started sometime last year but never finished, A Spot of Bother. And if I finally manage to locate our copy of The Life of Pi, I'm going to make myself actually finish it (I hear it picks up once you get past the starting).


The books my dad and sister got me for Christmas. They're hiding my big, nerdy grin.


Yeah. Exciting stuff. I think I just did a pretty good job of painting myself as a bookworm with absolutely no social life, which, like, totally isn't the case at all. Most of the time. Because real life starts again tomorrow, I'm going to go do actual productive things now. Like homework. And lab reports. And all that jazz.


Bye.

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