I remember the first books I bought (though not the very first one) and come to think of it, I was clearly compensating. Not many friends at hand it was a good opportunity to escape the real world, which was rather unpleasant to be in, and, frankly, it was even a better way to escape myself.
I wasn’t the best to be around. Not one of those nerdy charming kids you see in the media these days, everything being very post Big Bang Theory now.
I was fat, loud and sans many of those social skills deemed important when it comes to deal with other people. At least so that they like you.
Books (and animals and the countryside I used to roam, later music) where forgiving to that streak. They lent me a time off of the evergrinding reality I so desperatly wanted to leave. Sometimes even in the darkest possible way. Which is not unusual for someone growing up actually having a pulse, I guess.
Literature and Non-fiction will always do that one thing I love about being alone. Tthey bring me to the one place no one else can get me to: blissful solitude.
Best calendar ever
ZACHARY QUINTO IS ON CONAN TONIGHT OMFG PLEASE BE THE NIGHT WHERE MY LIFE TURNS INTO THE MO VIE THE RING SO HE CAN CLIMB THROUGH MY TV AND FUCK ME IN MY BED
The weekend is nearly here… I can almost taste it!