I will now try to weld the disparate sides of my brain/edges of my thoughts into one whole expression. Trying counts, right?
1) I posted a long time ago with a book pharmacopeia, which aimed to offer people a book that would, essentially, cure what ailed them. I am deeply convinced that this is, in some way, the solution to the world's problems.
2) I am currently more stressed out than I would like to be. And it's important to note that nothing truly bad or difficult is happening. It's just the regular stress of regular life, no worse. But I am, shall we say, not exactly rolling with the punches. No, with me, when someone punches me instead of rolling, I fall down and cry.
3) The best way I have found to get back to myself, to regain perspective, to find peace, is reading. BUT. While I did, finally, finish The Yiddish Policeman's Union, it was never what I wished it were: a ticket out of my own head. I am now, at Mr. Diamond's recommendation, reading this:
It's not doing the trick. And by trick I mean, of course, rescuing me from myself.
But here's the thing. (Can you feel the thoughts all coming together as one? No?) I don't think the reason these books aren't working is the books. I think the problem is me and my stress: it's making it almost impossible to read in a satisfying way. Which is making me more stressed. Which is making it almost impossible to…do you see where I'm going with this?
I am planning, anyway, to do a more focused version of the pharmacopeia, in the fervent and probably misguided hope that it will somehow catch on, and we will all be healed. And in that version, I will, if I can, include the book that can bring someone out of this situation.
Until that happens, does anyone know the way out of this conundrum?
Side note: We are supposed to read Wolf Hall for my book group. If this has the magical power to break through my situation, I promise to let you all know.