Books and music are really the only reason why I will ever believe one very intelligent and truly altruistic creator exists. One moment you are bogged down by all the world's pain of hurting someone very dear to you, and another you are immersed into the plot of of a world you can barely even conjure up, even if you were 5 years old (also read most creative and imaginative). Sometimes a plot (or a tune) has an almost ethereal meditative affect of creating abstract (or palpable) vibrations, that you really begin to wonder if another human's neural network is really capable of creating such beautiful and enchanting distractions. Then the Joy of Life abounds you, and you wonder how you could get so self-involved in trivial insecurities and guilt.
It's amazing how my rapport with books has changed over the years. I had maintained through my college years that I was incapable of finishing a book if I am not in good spirits. Perhaps it was sheer confirmation bias. Either way, I am not one to complain.
Currently reading - Ishmael by Daniel Quinn and The Complete Prose of Woody Allen (He had me at 'The Whore of Mensa'[link])
Did I mention I love Spring and April? :)
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