You Look Like You Read Books...

My younger brother is 6 years younger than I am, that means that for 6 years I perfected the art of hanging with solo. I spent hours in my room letting my imagination run wild after throughly nurturing it with every word that I could pronounce on my own in every book that I owned--which was a heck of a lot considering that most children under 10 aren't usually prolific readers. By the time my brother arrived I was starved for a playmate--not that I didn't have friends I was just a little kid and little kids don't ever have tons of friends--but I only wanted a playmate who, like my imaginary friends, also loved to read, paint and play games based on the stories I read. Yeah, I love my brother but we do not share the same passion for the written word.

By the time I entered middle school the characters in my books had become my best and most trusted friends, as evidenced by my bookshelf beginning to sag under the weight of 11+ years of books. I'd added two encyclopedias--that's Wikipedia's grandma for you whipper snappers,The Boxcar Children, Witch Baby--I think I read that so many times the cover fell off--R.L. Stein's Goosebumps, and the ultimate "I was an adolescent girl in the 90's" identifier,  The Babysitter's Club--Claudia and Stacey aka Anastasia McGill were my faves. It was also right around that same time that I my love affair with glossies lik Seventeen, Sassy, YM (Young & Modern), COSMOgirl and Jump began, but that's another blog post. 

 

Things got rocky as I began to transition from childhood to whatever the hell you call being a teenager. My grandma died, my childhood home flooded and my parents got divorced but my books were still there ready to help me escape the hell of being a 12 year old black girl who could quote Clueless verbatim, openly loved Alains Morrisette and Nirvana, had her first celeb crushes on Elijah Wood and Leonardo DiCaprio and wanted to be a VJ/actress/model/writer/slash in New Orleans. (For those of you who don't get how hellish this could be all I have to say is it was not pretty being in a group of people who looked like me but didn't accept me because I wasn't a stereotype. Those girls are now knocked up and/or married, doing God knows what and couldn't dream of squeezing into their prom dresses while I'm still a size 4 with no baby daddy drama and I'm some kind of writer.) What was I saying again? Oh right, my books pretty much got me from 6th grade to high school, where I began to pretty much stick to assigned reading materials and Cosmopolitan. 

After high school life went from cheerleading, homework and boys to partying, homework, boys and more boys--I'm the first to admit that I was a bit boy crazed up until about 21 or so. My books didn't really fit in with my schedule but that doesn't mean I didn't read, it just means I'm not really 100 on what I was reading. I still spent hours in Barnes and Nobles between classes and loved walking into the library just for the smell of it, I just didn't have time to forge many new friendships with Tolkien's characters until I graduated and moved to Atlanta where I didn't know anyone. My first summer here I read the entire Harry Potter series in reverse order and then moved on to Twilight (let down)....Then I fell in love with my very own Edward Cullen who left me in the woods like Bella after almost 3  beautiful years.

Now, post breakup, the books are back again but these aren't the books of my childhood. My new bookshelf houses hardcopies of Harry Potter 1-7, the Twilight Saga, a bunch of chick lit and reference guides and my newest addiction self help/spirituality tomes. Girls, getting broken up with does some strange things to you. I've seen girls become whores, crack addicts, crack addicted whores, lesbians, crack addicted lesbian whores, workaholics and only God knows what else after having their heart really broken, it either brings out the best or the worst in you. I didn't go the crack addicted, workaholic slore route, instead I took a break from writing and became a full on student of now age spirituality, see DharmaAndTheCity.

The point is, my books have been the one security blanket that got me through life. They never bore the hell out of you, whine about anything and always provide the perfect escape when the going gets tough without the lows of alcohol and coming down off of a drug/sex/chocolate binge. So I'm beyond ecstatic that one of my former co-workers took one look at me (and my FBF) and said "You look like you read." I mean what is the alternative, looking like you're illiterate?