Oh my. I've become too sidetracked. I can't go back now. I have legitimately ruined this post by disgusting everyone and turning them off from ever eating borscht again. I'm sure it's not bad. In fact, it's a borscht kind of day today. Do yourself a favor and enjoy a nice, not-at-all-resembling-post-birth-gunk bowl of Ukrainian soup. Do it for your future, mostly awful but occasionally okay children.
Back to my binge. ALL I was going to say is that I have been bingeing on books. Big deal, no big surprise, big whoop. But it is a big deal. It is a big luxury. When I enter that world and pour myself over those pages, parts of me I didn't know were broken are healed. Or at least begin to heal. Other parts of me crack open and are exposed, leaving the flesh raw and tender. Both add to the formation of Self. Both add dimension, color, shade to the hour, to the day, to the life. In short, I am creating a life through the lives of others, but it still comes out as my own. I claim who I am through the discoveries I make on each page.
At some point, however, I need to tear myself away from my books and take what I've learned outside. Remaining within the covers is too seductive. Let me let go and let other, non-fictional souls in. Let me trust that it's not just a black hole out there. It's an entire universe with comets and stardust and the possibility of other lifeforms. I think I'm ready to explore.
But first -- borscht.