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| Norman Rockwell - Saying Grace (1951) |
Yesterday I pulled a Norman Rockwell book off the shelf. Stopped on the page with Saying Grace.
One moment I looked at a picture. The next there was a story in my head.
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Some weeks this weird, diaphanous anxiety begins to rise under my skin. It comes and it goes and I get up in the mornings and stare into the mirror and ask, What is wrong with me? and finally, one day, realize that I’m not reading a book right now. And that’s why.
So, yesterday I started reading a new book.*
I feel better.
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*The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, if you want to know. (Thanks to Nancy, whose book recommendations never fail.)
THE STORIES. they just started coming back for me too. for so long it was my own story, and that was amazing in its own right, but also not very interesting since i live my own life, you know? also, was talking to kevin payne the other day (on the phone. what. who am i) and he said something to a very similar effect, about how not reading makes him feel not himself. curious. i miss you. <3
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