MusingsPersonalWritersWriting

A Note On Obsession

I am beginning to think I am not a nice person.

I am impatient.

I am selfish.

And I have on more than one occasion during the last year been accused of being rude.

Why? Because I would rather read or write than “visit” (this is the euphemism for everyone sitting on their butts watching t.v. and occasionally saying something that’s generally not very interesting). My mom is here in honor of Christmas, and we’ve had on the t.v.–there’s nothing on. We left it on Tracing Places and mom leafed through a cookbook. So I read. And evidently missed it when somebody said something to me. So then my mother and husband tell me I’m being rude for not visiting.

And you know what popped into my head?

Then be more interesting.

The people I create in my head or read about are a helluva lot more interesting than rehashing old, tired, boring family crap. Is it any wonder that I would rather spend time with them?

See, I’m horrible. And obsessed with my work. God knows how it will turn out when/if I ever manage to do this for a living. Maybe then I won’t resent everything and everybody so much for being dull then.

I’m terrible.

4 thoughts on “A Note On Obsession

  1. My daughter said to me yesterday, “You never listen.” So being a good Mom I put down my book and asked her what she had said. She told me the same thing she said an hour ago. I kindly pointed that out. Her reply, “Oh.” So no it’s not rude to tune people out from time to time otherwise you might go insane.

  2. I sympathize, I really do. I’ve dealt with everything you just mentioned. That said, with age, my perspective has changed a bit. I do not spend every waking moment reading/writing. I compartmentalize better. When I’m writing or reading, that’s what I’m doing, and my husband/family has learned to let me be, because they know that when I’m NOT writing or reading, they can hang out with me—the point is, I give them some of my time–and I give them QUALITY time, too, not just a few hours where I’m bored out of my skull. I help make it interesting–to me, and, oddly enough, to them as well. I don’t look at the holidays as time to catch up on writing/reading I can well do during the rest of the year. The holidays are my time with family. Since the death of my brother, I’ve clearly seen that they will not be with me always, and I don’t want them leaving this life without me knowing who they are, or they knowing who I am. I hope I’m not coming off as preachy. I just wanted to give you another angle to look at. 😀 Merry Christmas, seanachi.

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