Book tangent

I know I've been a bad little blogger, and there's no excuse, especially for someone who's not only home, but planted in front of her computer this much. The truth is, life is a lot more full than one would expect without a full-time job.

In the past two weeks, I've been to the ROM with Mom and the brother, to the Royal Horse show, which was incredible, even though I was solo cause Mom had work take over her life, to the symphony, which was so much fun, cause Mom and Laur and Hugh were all there, and I love spending time with all of them, but I hadn't seen Hugh in forever, so that was great, plus I always love listening to live music with Hugh because it's so obvious how wrapped up he gets in it (Hugh's a violinist, and fiddler, and bassist, and pianist, and the list keeps going...).
(Apparently I'm a little stream-of-consciousnessey tonight, I'll try to curb the impulse, but once the comma jones gets it's claws into you, it's hard to shake loose the impulse.)

Laur took me to her boss' art show opening, which I enjoyed immensely. His art made me think of Edward Gorey, but more plastic; very bright, flat planes, with twisted content that was effectively tongue-in-cheek and didn't take itself too seriously-- definitely my cup of tea.

And I've seen Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire twice already, and won't be able to say that after friday (lol)! Honestly, this one is so freaking good...I'm not going to let myself get started, it'll never end, but just, go see it okay? For me? (With me?)

I know some people couldn't imagine (or bear) to see a movie more than once, or more than many times. Mom refuses to buy DVD's because she's so dead set against watching something more than once. She doesn't get how I do it. I have a tendency to read my favourite books (usually the not-so-literary ones) over and over, too. I'm also that way with music; listen to a good song, if it gets you groovin, then there's nothing wrong with listening to it again. And again. Okay, I do have a point here. What I'm driving towards, is that I'm wondering how, or why, or something...about how much comfort I get from these things. Okay, not the music so much. But the movies to a lesser extent, and the books, hugely. I LOVE rereading my old books. The first fantasy book I ever opened was called The Hunter's Moon, by O.R. Melling, which Mom bought for me for Christmas when I was nine or so, back when we still did Christmas, and it was in my stocking. I still have it. And I've read it more times than I can count (now I wish I'd had the foresight, at age nine, to make a mark in the cover each time I read a book). Seriously- I can recite the first chapter. And Dragon Bones, by Patricia Briggs, I bought her book...I think I was in highschool, but I'll sometimes pick that book up, like, three times a year. It's a thin little paperback, takes me two days to read, and I know every twist of plot and most of the best lines, but I keep coming back. I love it. I mean, I like the story and her characters and stuff, but it's not the book, really, it's what I get out of it, I guess, that I keep coming back for. Like I said, it surprises me how much comfort I get from these simple, familiar stories. When I was in class, be it Mac or publishing, and was really stimulated by what I was doing for so many hours every day, then it would never occur to me to pick up one of my old books. When I'm up with brainwork every day, those are the times when my 'book instinct' kicks in. This is another quirk, and I've mentioned it to Mom before. I have moments, where it's like my brain's on autopilot. I would be walking through the student centre at Mac, on my way to class or on my lunch break or something, and without making a conscious decision to do so, I'd deke into the bookstore, look blindly at a shelf and just grab, faze my way through the checkout, never with one clear thought in my head. Sometimes I'd be unpacking my schoolbag hours later when I got home, and would find shiny new paperbacks with receipts tucked in their covers, and have no recollection whatsoever of having bought them. It's not a bad thing, just odd.

But now I've tangented myself into left field.

It's when my life is not so stimulated (and I know I just talked all about going to the symphony and stuff, and yes, that was stimulating), that I feel the urge to crawl into my old familiar stories again. Maybe part of me is worried that periods like this (I wouldn't go so far as to call them ruts, just...moments of calm. In the boring sense.) will continue too long, and I'm, what, afraid of that? Worried? Numbed? Yeah, 'numbed' works (call me Largeman). So, what sense does it make that I would only read the stimulating, challenging, literary, autopilot-purchase books when I'm already stimulated? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Meh...I think this is a night of overanalysis, and without Lauren here I've talked myself into a corner. Besides, my book calls- and I know exactly what happens next.