Giving Myself Another Reason to Sit on My Ass

So I was inspired by the Internet to do some things today, most notably things that do not have to do with the Internet, or at least things that are not on the Internet, or at least things that don't have as much to do with the Internet than the things that I am normally concerned with.  I was having a conversation with someone half way around the world and it came up that I haven't really read anything at all this month, and I've really read very little the last few months.  I could make a case for ADD or ADHD, but what scapegoat is really more all-encompassing than the Internet?

So I bought some books because I really like buying new books.  I love the sharp edges and the smell and the new beginnings of fresh books.  It's inspiring, uplifting, coffeeish.  I collected The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera, Waiting for the Barbarians by J. M. Coetzee, and Hopscotch by Julio Cortazar.  I will most likely start reading all three of them within the next twenty-four hours, and it's doubtful that I'll still be reading all three in a week, and it's even more doubtful that I will have finished any of the three by then.  I'm not exactly confident that my rip-roarin' sleep deprived excitement/drive/inspiration will last for that long, and when it comes to sleep deprivation, it'd be nice to actually sleep.  I'm considering buying a new bed.

I've had a long, long history of always having my best ideas, be them literary, philosophical or self-improvement, when I've gone more than twenty-four hours without sleep--or when I've only had an average of less than five hours of sleep a night.  Some people can get by just fine on that amount of sleep, but when I find myself in that state of sleeplessness, I always imagine myself to be mildly irritable, delusional, and grandiose-of-thought.  Everything this great.  The world is my oyster.  The trees all sway so beautifully.  I really do hate fall.  Everything is dying  What kinds of berries are these?  Gah!  They don't taste editable.  I wonder if you can heat them up and if they'll taste better or if they'll just kill you?  Why do the wrens love these so much?

I went to Borders to make my literary purchases, which is the easiest option I have for buying any books and having them immediately in my hand on the same day.  I do feel a bit of sadness/regret that I have such strong desires to buy new books and wasting more paper than necessary and not buying used/pre-loved/jizzed-on ones, but I have yet to find a used bookstore in NW Indiana (hey, that's my lazy excuse).  It's not like there is a Von's everywhere; in fact, there is only one Von's, and it's in West Lafayette, Indiana, and is without a doubt the best thing about going to/having gone to Purdue.  

There seems to be hardly any places like Von's around anymore, and I really have no idea if there have really been any places like it ever.  The basement with all the used books, and most likely one that I'm looking for or most likely one that I didn't know I was looking for would be right there, and Sweet, I'll get it.  The CD section where there was occasionally something better to look at behind the counter, speaking of which I sort of felt like that at Borders (shame on me for being so corporate?  sorry, I'm just a part of the apathetic youth unmovement) because there was a pasty, skinny, tattooed, pierced girl behind the counter, who had some adorable freckles on her cheeks.  She talked a lot older than she looked, but when I looked I just couldn't tell how old she was, but most likely well within a range for my interests--should I ever find myself to be the kind of person to hit on/get extremely chummy (like more than just smiling and at most commenting on the pleasant/terrible weather) with anything who works anywhere and is serving me.

It's something about the extremely ghost-white, pale girl that I always seem to find myself looking at/interested in/aroused by.  A lot of times they have one or a number of tattoos and/or piercings, and more often than not they are serving me in some capacity because I never actually get out and meet fun, new, exciting people like I see people do on TV and in the movies, though I don't really watch movies.  I'm making some pretty general generalizations.

Ever since my trip to London, I've found myself wallowing a lot.  I'm not sure if wallowing is the right word, but I am certainly doing not very much at all, and I guess you could say that I've been moping quite a bit, too.  Sleeping even more randomly that I usually do.  Eating more than I should.  Not walking at all (though I actually did today).  Being particularly anti-social.  Well, maybe not anti-social, but at least extremely lazy when it comes to trying to meet up with friends, doing things with friends, getting out of the house, or just not sitting on my bed with my laptop or at the desk with the desktop.  Really, I'm surprised I'm not getting hemorroids (man, are there two ways to spell that or what?).