I just finished reading The Mist - Stephen King AKA Richard Bachman. King's writings always find a way to leave me in a weird state - that's why my dad hate me buying horror-fantasy novels, esp. King's - this state - I don't know how to explain it - you know when your heart is filled with this electric-heat and your eyes don't want to give up the tears, and your head goes spinning - maybe from the lack of food - and maybe from the pain you sense in other people's words, the misery, the dead love. I never want to fall in love. Better be isolated from the entire world than fall in love with a person you know you will lose sooner or later, it might not be that bad to you but to me death is something I can't take, I simply can't accept the dying of someone I love.
I'm already standing on a single thread of sanity surrounded by a crazy world; falling in love is like giving up your position in life (thread) and falling in the arms of a spouse, now imagine your spouse died, what will happen to you? hang in the air? holding Oxygen? No. End of story.
Back to King's Mist; reading it gave me a horrible dyspnea. It made me don't want to leave the house - what if a storm comes? what if I left all I ever cared for back behind and they were gone? - which reminds me of the well-renowned-official-whoever-he-was answering to the rumors (were they really rumors?) that we are not getting a tsunami here BUT who believes them anyways?!
I've been out yesterday (to college) right next to the harbor and the weather was one hell of a dust-bag. I know because I'm allergic, my eyes were (still are) bloodshot and I got this cold and itchy nose and almost suffocated lungs; which reminds me of the feeling I always get that I'm not going to die 60-years-old-warm-in-bed-surrounded-by-a-parade-of-grandchildren-and-an-old-loving-husband.
Life is an ass.
