My overwhelming ignorance when it comes to references to Greek mythology, Shakespeare plays, biblical characters and stories, fundamental philosophers, and more is continually frustrating me. Exactly what was I learning during my formative years? Even then I thirsted for learning, but I was so directionless that I consistently obeyed without passion, open-eyed and blind. My interest in these subjects though is indirect (only so much that novels I'm reading allude to them) and hence I'll probably alway be too lazy to delve into them properly.
As I'm trying to go through the literary works on my bookshelf that I have been too intimidated in the past to tackle, I find myself reading aloud (like a true dork) as the best way to ensure not only my attention span but also my comprehension. I think part of my problem with reading fiction is that I have a weak visual imagination. (This would also explain why I can draw something I see in front of me but can't draw an object from thought alone.) I'm finding all other sorts of weaknesses and possible solutions. Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to accomplish something, I neglect the increased depth a more relaxed pace can offer. Forcing myself to pause periodically and jot down notes and reflections has been fruitful though.
I don't know how I could ever go back to living with someone; I'm beginning to realize that I'm a curiously loud person in private. Between reading books aloud to avoid cursory understandings, my increasingly stringent rules for watching DVDs, and blaring my music while flailing about obnoxiously as a break from the other two activities, I'd drive anyone out (at least in a space this size). My increasingly ascetic lifestyle keeps bringing me that much closer to becoming a crazy spinster with twenty cats. My lack of surprise to this is the only part I find disparaging. Blah.
As I'm trying to go through the literary works on my bookshelf that I have been too intimidated in the past to tackle, I find myself reading aloud (like a true dork) as the best way to ensure not only my attention span but also my comprehension. I think part of my problem with reading fiction is that I have a weak visual imagination. (This would also explain why I can draw something I see in front of me but can't draw an object from thought alone.) I'm finding all other sorts of weaknesses and possible solutions. Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to accomplish something, I neglect the increased depth a more relaxed pace can offer. Forcing myself to pause periodically and jot down notes and reflections has been fruitful though.
I don't know how I could ever go back to living with someone; I'm beginning to realize that I'm a curiously loud person in private. Between reading books aloud to avoid cursory understandings, my increasingly stringent rules for watching DVDs, and blaring my music while flailing about obnoxiously as a break from the other two activities, I'd drive anyone out (at least in a space this size). My increasingly ascetic lifestyle keeps bringing me that much closer to becoming a crazy spinster with twenty cats. My lack of surprise to this is the only part I find disparaging. Blah.
No comments:
Post a Comment