Reflection and Reading - R

I've established a pattern in my A to Z Blogging & R should have been a flash fiction. But I'm not feeling it. Many of you probably aren't feeling much of anything either. 

Reflection

It's been another kick in the gut day for music lovers and creativity afficionados. I remember feeling the wrongness of the death of Freddie Mercury despite my lack of years at the time. I remember the feeling of senselessness at the deaths of River Phoenix, Kurt Cobain and Heath Ledger (to name but a few). I wept over the news of Princess Diana's death and could tell you all about the moment I saw the report. I'm still looking for a piece of myself missing after Patrick Swayze died. The wound from the loss of Robin Williams is tender to the touch and probably always will be. David Bowie's passing was like being sideswiped and tumbling down a cliff. Alan Rickman... I still can't bring myself to fully grasp that one. Today we are shocked to learn of the passing of the incomparable Prince. If I was young when Freddie Mercury died, rest assured, I was far too young to understand the music Prince was making. At the time. I aged a bit. I endured some things. And oh boy, did I get it then.

For a lack of sense, for a lack of understanding, it simply feels like something vital to the fabric of reality has been ripped away. Violently and without warning. Something you expected to always be is as impermanent as we all are. Even if you aren't necessarily a devoted fan of a music legend or a performer, it's palpable. 2016 certainly has had a tidal wave of shocking departures.  As 1959 forever holds the Day the Music Died. If you're morbidly curious, there are other years where multiple celebrities died.  All Loads of them. But these icons whose influence spans multiple generations, who gave permission and voices to people who felt like outsiders, the cull of them hits with a harder punch. At least to those of us who felt or still feel like outsiders.

Reading

I have this habit of getting a little too happy at the library and checking out more books than I have time to read. I set a limit for myself to only check out two books at a time at the beginning of the year that has been working great. Which of course means, it's time for me to blow it all to hell. I checked out four books last time, returned 1 partially read (but added to my 'gotta buy' list) and 2 more flipped through at most. I still have 1 checked out & have only read the preface of it. I finished a book I own but hadn't read yet and got the sequel from the library's digital holdings along with another book (one I own in paperback but haven't read yet - so it  makes perfect sense I'd get a time sensitive version... I have a problem. I know.). I go back to the library and pick up 3, yes three more books when I picked up books for other members of the household.

For a grand total of 6 books, 4 more than I can definitely probably manage.

Book shaming, self edition

In the grand scheme of things, it's not even a spec on the radar. It's a minor annoyance only in that I dislike not finishing books and it messes with my "Have I read this or not?" inner dialogue.

The horror!

In all fairness, today's impulse library borrowing was because a friend asked for some reading suggestions based on a topic of mutual interest.

Close approximation to what happens when I'm asked about books.

I scrolled through my TBR list for good measure to round out my suggestions. And then casually picked up 3 books from that list at the library. 'Cause what the hell else do I have to do?