“Waiting. Writing. You decide, until it’s no longer a choice and you are reaching for your laptop, as essential as your inhaler. Quiet yourself and live in words, but try not to hear those other voices, the ones that long to steer you to the path of should.”
The Verdict: Highly recommend.
At one point, I thought, “Okay, here we go, typical romance-drama, girl falls for handsome rich guy, guy is a jerk, so on and so forth” But then it took a sharp turn, and the entire book changed, in a good way. It made me think and made me feel, two amazing characteristics I look for in a good read. It had a nice blend of romance without being too gross (yes, I used the word gross) and I really liked Colleen Hoover’s writing style.
Definitely in the chick lit genre, but much more mature and serious than some of these other romance/drama types. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
A little ode to the RHCP right there. ^
It’s such a weird feeling being on the other side of the healthcare industry. 4-5 times a week I’m the one poking people, touching people, asking all sorts of questions. But today, I was the one laying on the gurney being poked and prodded. And the best part? I’m not done. I have one more doctor’s appointment after this.
All I could think about is how many people out there do this every day. Me? I’m complaining because I had to get blood work and a precautionary ultrasound. I’m complaining because I have access to top of the line healthcare and testing. I’m complaining because I’m not healing fast enough after an elective operation to make my life better.
I have no right to complain.
The hospital/healthcare system I use is known nationwide of its cancer treatment and research. The hospital is filled with cancer survivors, cancer patients, and those who walk into the building not knowing if they’re going to leave with a new cancer diagnosis. There’s patients who are having life-changing operations and going through ground breaking clinical trials.
Yet here I am whining because I have two appointments in one day.
You’d think working in the medical field (and for those of you who are new to my blog, I’m an emergency and trauma nurse), I’d be a little more humble. But I’m not. I’m still me, and I’m an entitled piece of shit sometimes.
It’s not easy being on the other side of things, and it’s certainly not easy spending your day off in and out of appointments and tests. But here’s what put things in perspective for me: while I was in the waiting room, I was scrolling facebook (of course) and saw that an old co-worker, who is only a few years older than me, announced she’s in remission from cancer. Wait. What? The last time I saw her she was perfectly fine. She’s only thirty. What?
Then I thought about it. The last time I saw her, a few years ago, she was complaining of pain and tingling. It was non-specific, no one could really identify what was going on, but it was there. To the point that it brought her to tears.
Now, she’s 6 months cancer free. I can’t be sure the two are related but I think I have a pretty good idea. My point is, never in a million years would she have imagined she’d have cancer at thirty-something. She’s healthy, not overweight, a Physician Assistant, and one of the sweetest people you’d meet. Yet it happened to her.
Health crises can happen to anyone, at any time.
Self: Count your blessings and enjoy the fact that you’re sitting in a waiting room for elective testing for non-life-threatening problems, on your day off because you’re fortunate to even have a job.
“I can take a lot of crazy shit from a lot of crazy people but you, you are not crazy.” girl, interrupted
I got my love of reading from my mother. I’m forever grateful for the fact that she kept ALL of her Stephen King novels from when she was younger (she’s since moved into what I call old lady novels) and passed them on to me. Where my mother and I differ, however, is that she must finish every book she starts – even if it sucks.
I, on the other hand, cannot.
Just last night I slammed a book down on the table in the break room at work, saying “That’s it. I’m done. I can’t do it”. My coworker, bless his heart, decided to ask me what the hell my problem was. I then went on to rant about how this particular book was awful, the writing sucked, it was boring me half to death, and I couldn’t understand why so many people gave it decent reviews. Now, I’m not a hateful person and I don’t really want to sit behind my computer and bash this author (although I did leave a negative review on GoodReads), but my point is: I’d rather spend time reading a book I enjoy than waste my time reading something awful.
After my meltdown over that book, I went on Amazon.com and instantly ordered another book for my Kindle which I started reading immediately and got about halfway through before my shift was done (it was a slow night, ok? don’t judge me). This new book, which I’ll name because it’s good, is It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover. Now, overall I’m really enjoying this book. My only qualm is…why does every strong male character/love interest have to be tall, dark, handsome and rich? And also…a little creepy? I’ll leave a proper book review when I’m done so that’s all for now.
Every one of us has different opinions, backgrounds, literary preferences, etc. My idea of a “good book” may not be yours. But with thousands of incredible literary works out there…why bother with those that don’t move us? When reading a novel for pleasure, I shouldn’t be bored. I shouldn’t be reading so fast because I’m trying to get to a scene with some substance. I shouldn’t feel like I’m reading a teenager’s diary, unless of course that’s the style 🙂
Being a writer makes me a snob when it comes to books, and I admit that. But that’s not to say I don’t enjoy a good silly novel or two, if it holds my interest. Not every author is going to be a Stephen King or a Tolkien. But I’d rather spend weeks reading one of those books than get through a mediocre-at-best book in two hours because there was literally nothing to process.
To each their own!
I finally gave in and read the popular book by Mark Manson. My fellow twenty-something friends were raving about it, so when I was preparing for my beach vacation and saw the book was on sale, I figured why not?
The Verdict: I loved it. I read the book in two days, laughed out loud, and talked about it with my husband. An even better sign of the books success? I’ve found myself thinking about it in the days that followed, especially when I became frustrated or annoyed. While on that vacation, I feel like I came to some pretty important conclusions about my life. Now, I’m not saying the book gave me some life-changing epiphany, but it seemed to give me some validation of what I had already been thinking.
I haven’t read any of Mark Manson’s work prior to this book, but I like his writing style and his bold yet realistic ways of thinking. I’d recommend this book to anyone who has a sense of humor and needs to lighten up a little bit (aka me in a nutshell).
I dreamt about you last night. Vividly.
It fascinates me how our subconscious works. How out of all the people in my memories, you’re the one my subconscious chose last night. It wasn’t really you though. It was the idea of you, of who I thought you could be, wrapped up in your beautiful body. It was the you that could’ve been with me, for real. It was the you I could’ve loved.
You were the kind of person all the girls fantasized about. The kind that could give you the tingles in places that you didn’t know existed. The kind that made you feel like you were flying.
I often think about what kind of person you are now. I then find myself wondering if you ever found someone to love. I wonder if she makes you coffee late at night when you’re writing, if she holds you when you’re upset or if she can tell what mood you’re in just by looking into your eyes. I wonder if she makes you fly.
I would never trade what I have now for anything in the world. I would never go back to you if you begged. You were everything I wanted, but nothing that I needed. We could never have worked, we were too much alike. I wasn’t meant to take care of someone, to heal the wounded. (Although it’s funny that now that very thing is what I do for a living) I was meant for someone to understand the fine line and balance of knowing when I need to be taken care of and when I need to do it on my own. I was meant for someone who isn’t like me, and as frustrating as that can be, it brings a wonderful harmony to the relationship. I could never imagine being married to myself.
So I do still think about you. I apparently still dream about you. But I don’t miss you.
You were everything I wanted, but nothing that I needed.