Today I was thinking about my living situation and how much I enjoy living on my own, essentially alone. I did, after a need for cuddles, get myself a kitten, but still I live alone. I am so used to being alone, I like it. i’ve also been single for longer than I’d care to admit, but again it doesn’t really bother me. Yes, I get an urge now and again to go out and find a date, but hey I’m human we all have needs. 

Then I started thinking about my mom and how she reacted when I moved out. I felt like I broke her heart. But when I think about it her reaction was understandable. My mom has never once in her entire life lived alone. She grew up with her parents, in the house her grandparents grew up in. Her uncle moved next door when he grew up. She went a few towns over to school, but she had a roommate, or many. My mom married at the age of 21. My dad moved in with my mom and her parents then after having my brother they immigrated to Canada. Once here they ended up meeting many other Czech immigrants so when my dad was off finding work and my mom was home with two little kids she still had people she could talk to who lived near by. 

My parents separated when I turned 16, but after my dad moved out my brother and I were still living with my mom. Then the Governor came into the picture (my step-dad but the name has no connection with The Walking Dead). He moved in with us, surprisingly. My mom didn’t tell me he had officially moved in and I had to call and ask her why all his plants and his cat were suddenly in our house. 

Even though my brother and I are now moved out my mom still lives with the Governor. She has never lived alone in her whole life. She has no idea what it’s like and neither does my brother. My brother has travelled many places on his own but he always makes friends and meets people. He currently lives with a roommate. The only person in my immediate family who’s lived on his own is my dad. He moved out and lives on his own out in the middle of nearly no where. But then again, his girlfriend is frequently there so he’s not alone all that often. 

It’s really just me in the family that craves that aloneness. I live in my head most of the time anyways so living alone just makes sense for me I guess. I can imagine living with roommates and the fun that it could entail, but I think I’m really more of a loner these days. I love my friends and I love seeing them but it’s rare when I do with my busy schedule. This makes me think that I might be very selfish. I’m so into myself that I don’t spend enough time with other people… but I always think the worst of myself. 

Is it odd that I’m so comfortable being alone? I like to just sit and listen to music and think, or read, or write. Am I half way to wearing a trench coat and skulking around the neighbourhood park? Isn’t that way loners do? 

I’d love some feedback on my black sheep behaviour. 


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I am a disgrace to the reading community. I’ve read maybe 200 books in my very short 23 years, not including the “Spot Run” and “Cat Takes a Bath” books I read as a child. My library is a disgrace. I have two, only TWO, book cases filled with books. What kind of reader/writer am I? A terrible excuse for one. My library is lacking so many books… I will never catch up.

I read a lot for my classes, but I don’t pay that much attention and half the time I skim these books.

I blame my parents. Yes, I said it. I blame you Mom and Dad! You didn’t give me books! Well, that’s not true. If I asked for a book I usually got it. But they didn’t really encourage books. I can’t really blame them, English is their second language. My dad was never a big reader, he’s a worker bee and I get that from him (my drive to have two jobs I can attribute to him). My mom was a reader as a child, but she read Czech books. My love for writing was my doing, I loved making up stories. That I can give partial credit to my childhood best friend (who will be known as Niche). Niche could never fall asleep during sleepovers and she would always give me heck for falling asleep first, so I would lay on the floor or next to her in bed and tell her stories until she (or in some cases I) fell asleep.

But my love of literature and books I must blame on my brother’s friends. As I was slowly starting my high school honours English classes all his friends (but not him) were starting their Majors in English at University. They talked about books and suggested books for me and I fell in love. Also, I have to attribute some of my love of literature to my 10th grade English honours  teacher and my 11th and 12th grade English honours and Literature teacher. These men encouraged me, they were fun and serious at the same time. They didn’t take shit from the other teachers, they were sarcastic and fun and I felt so in touch with these men. In 12th grade I was reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, of course half of the content was lost on me but I still found it beautiful. My teacher saw this on my desk and we began to talk about it. I felt like an equal to a man I looked up to. I felt intelligent and I felt respected. I felt like comfortable and in my element.

But I screwed this all up by not reading enough!

I made a list this morning, a list of all the books I need for my library or want for my library. Off the top of my head this is what I came up with:

José Saramago: Baltasar and Blimunda, The Gospel According to Jesus Christ, The Double, The Elephant’s Journey, Cain, The Stone Raft, Journey to Portugal, The History of the Siege of Lisbon

Margaret Atwood: Surfacing, Life Before Man, Bodily Harm, Cat’s Eye, The Robber Bride, The Penelopiad, MaddAddam (not yet released)

Charles Dickens: The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby, The Adventures of Oliver Twist, A Christmas Carol, David Copperfield, A Tale of Two Cites, Great Expectations

Douglas Adams: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Life, the Universe and Everything, So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, Mostly Harmless, And Another Thing…

Tom Robbins: Jitterbug Perfume, Skinny Legs and All, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, Another Roadside Attraction, Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas

Cassandra Clare: City of Ashes, City of Class, City of Fallen Angels, City of Lost Souls, City of Heavenly Fire (not yet released).

Angela Carter: Wise Children, Nights at the Circus, The Passion of New Eve

Gabriel Garcia Marquez: In Evil Hour, The General in His Labyrinth

James Joyce: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Ulysses

Milan Kundera: The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

S.E. Hinton: The Outsiders

Umbeito Eco: The Name of the Rose

Susanna Clarke: Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norwell

Laini Taylor: Days of Blood and Starlight

And this is just what I thought of in the span of a half hour! If there’s anything that anyone thinks I should add or that I have to read then please tell me! I clearly have my work cut out for me, but the more the merrier. Plus if anyone wants to get me a present for any possible situation (birthday, Christmas, Name’s Day, etc) just pick one from the list. I recently finished The Great Gatsby, but there will be no review until I watch the new movie. I want to compare it. I’ve also got my judgemental cap ready for when I see it.

I just started All the Names by José Saramago and I’m only on page 33 but I already have quotes stashed from it’s pages. This is always a great sign.

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