my drug is paper full of words

Wednesday reading meme:

Recently finished - the first three volumes of Flowers of Evil by Shūzō Oshimi. It's really strange, this manga about awkward teenagers and Baudelaire and how we're all sort of fucked up. I like it. I desperately need the next volume.

Currently reading - The second book in CS Friedman's Coldfire Trilogy. It's on my shortlist for Yuletide, so I'm, refreshing now. I enjoy this poisonous world, the mix of sci-fi and fantasy.

Up next - Either the third Coldfire book, or one of the half dozen library books I checked out yesterday. maybe the collection of Shirley Jackson stories.

Currently I'm binge reading, attempting to eat more reasonable meals, trying to get some kind of exercise every day and basically not fall apart. The aftermath of this death business has been unmitigated terror. Everything makes me afraid. I can feel that urge to never leave the house, to hide. If Mike's alarm rings more than a few times I have a momentary flash of panic that he might be dead. I feel complete despair about politics, the environment, everything everywhere is falling apart and we are all doomed. Everything is an over-reaction, snowballing from my father's death. I know it is irrational. Just like I know no one and nothing will comfort me about mortality or the hideous fragility of our existence. So I try to pave over this existential horror until I have something to stand on and get through my days.

So I don't know. I keep trying to get through the day without becoming a shut in lunatic or an alcoholic.