I’m currently on spring break.
I’m not partying in Mexico or tanning in Florida. I’m in a car, on my way to a visit at a college I have very little intent to attend.
In the car, and on the car trip to Chicago over the weekend, I have been reading. I just finished the second book.
I’ll give you the sun by Jandy Nelson and We All Looked Up by Tommy Wallach. Both books were very interesting. Both were heartbreaking. Both had multiple compelling characters. Both made me want to cry. I didn’t cry though.
What does my lack of ability to cry say. I can’t cry anymore unless its about my meaningless problems and potentially my meaningless existence.
I guess I am afraid that if I only cry about my own problems I will become less sympathetic for others, which I don’t want at all.
I recognize that nobody will read this. That’s good. I just needed it to be out there. Pain and heartbreak hurt more in your own life, maybe because I have never truly experienced the sad and bad and fucked up things the characters in these books- these stories- have. I’m okay with that.