And so it is

So, the third day of the holidays has ended...and it's the fourth day now.

And panic is slowly dawning, that sickening, anxious feeling that I should be studying as I write this...guilt, worry, and inertia to even pick up that book.

There's no time for a break now...I've waited this long to begin...I should, oh damn I should!

Maybe I should stop blogging too - would that be a good thing or a decision taken on impulse?

I have realised, lately, that I'm too impulsive for my own good. I make decisions without thinking clearly, say things I regret later, act on emotions without a care for the consequences...

Not to mention that I'm being really self-indulgent here. It's all about me - me - me and I!

But am I so happy. A nice change really, to wake up at 10 a.m. and read till about 2 a.m. (Goodbye, eyes.)

One insignificant piece of good news: I've completed The Sorrows of Young Werther!

It ended on a terribly depressing tone; here's an excerpt:

...In the eyes of the world - and in the eyes of the world is it sinful for me to love you, to want to tear you from his embrace into my own? Sin? Very well, and I am punishing myself; I have tasted the whole divine delight of that sin, and have taken balm and strength into my heart. From this moment you are mine! mine, oh Lotte! I am going on ahead! going unto my Father, your Father.

Very depressing. Werther fell in love with the girl mentioned above, Lotte, but she was already engaged to another man, Albert. Werther tried to forget her, but he was unable to do so, and when he received news that she was wedded to Albert, he sank deeper and deeper into depression and obsession.

And then he blew his brains out with a pistol in the end.

Should I cry or laugh?

Maybe both.

The cover was beautiful though, caught my attention at first. (One reason why I bought it. *sigh*) But it looks as though the face could be a girl or a young man...so is it Lotte? Or Werther on his deathbed?

But it does present a rather romantic image of suicide, such as can be seen from this line:

To think that I might have enjoyed the happiness of dying for you! of sacrificing myself for you, Lotte!

It started a string of copycat suicides after its publication. (By the way, if you had clicked on that link to Wiki on one of my earlier posts, you would have known about this fact by now.) Werther seems to be losing his mind, for all he talks in his letters about being calm and melancholy.

Oddly, it seems, this book isn't as bad as Sylvia Plath's. I still can't get that book out of my head.

"The woman is perfected.
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment."

~ Opening lines of Sylvia Plath's last poem, written a week before her suicide.

Oh man. I've got to stop listening to Damien Rice.