Fragment #106 - Some reading

I let the book fall on the bed next to me. I still want to read, I'm still eager to find out what happens to that heroin. But I need a break. I need to come back to reality. This book is getting the best of me. I already knew I had a conflicted relationship to books and literature in general, but I forgot how deep I can get involved in a novel. In this case, even worse, several novels. I feel like a teenager again. But that might be because of the book.
I push the covers with my feet and get up. How come I get so worked up on a book? Me, of all people, should be aware of the illusionary power of fiction. It's as if I didn't really want to face the fact that my life was not a book. It's not that I think my life is not interesting - that's definitively not true. It feels more like I wanted to be a fictional character. Knowing that someone else, beyond my reality was deciding for me of the events. I'm not sure that I would like this person very much at the moment, if that person really existed, after what they put me through... But then, there would be no need for the search of whose fault it was if events happen.
This doesn't make sense, Charlie, get a grip. Even your thoughts are confused. But that's exactly how I feel, confused beyond the thinkable.
I walk in the kitchen and get the kettle. I set my hand on its side. Still hot. Good, I'll have another tea then. Cup, tea, and sugar. Stir a little with a spoon. Back in the bedroom, under the cover. The bed is still warm. Probably from me spending my days (and nights for that matter) in it. And Steve as well. I look depressively at the clock on my bedside table. Another two hours to wait until he comes back. I sip a bit of my tea, and of course burn myself trying to drink too quickly. I set a hand on my belly. I haven't put on weight yet, of course so it doesn't show, but my internal certainty is enough to me. Steve asks for more scientific proofs, so we went to see the doctor the other day, who confirmed what I already knew. Thinking of that, we didn't really agree or even simply discuss what was going to happen. Are we going to keep it? I want to, but he's got his word in this.
I put the cup next to the other one on the table. I lean my hand towards the book, and then pull it back towards me. I don't want to resume reading yet. If I do, I'll just be lost in imagination again. I want to appreciate reality as well.
After another look at the clock, I sigh. An hour and fifty minutes to wait for myreality to come back home. I giggle and open the book.