Fiction Hangover: My version of Depression

So lately I've been reading too much.


But Rachel, you say, how can you read TOO MUCH? Surely it's better than loosing your brains in TV or PS2 games (*cough* guilty).

Yeah, well, some of your brains may turn to cottage cheese when you stare at a screen, but printed paper does that to me.

So I'm reading about 150 - 180 pages a day. Naturally, I start having favourite characters among the ones I'm meant to like equally, taking sides in fights that get resolved on the next page and actually getting pissed when my character gets overruled at tribunals even when there's a happy ending.

Now as I think I've said before, I'm studying William Blake at school. I have an essay (thanks, Teach) to hand in next Monday (as this week's work experience week - joy!) and I'm about half way through it.

This is where my reading habits are getting dangerous.

I keep thinking... bollocks... essay... write it... oh, never mind, this isn't real anyway.

I then have to mentally punch myself and yell "FOOL!" over and over again until I realise I don't belong in the caves/castle/seedy bar I had been reading about, and that my life is not the dream but the reality.

And the reality of my life at the moment is:
If I don't write about the flea-whispering son of a b*tch I'm in deep sh*t a week tomorrow.

Books I've gotten lost in recently: