I Wonder

Escapism. It's a funny thing. For instance, me writing this is escapism. From reality, I am escaping into the Internet and in the process getting very philosophical and stiff in my writing. It does not help that I am finishing up Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for the eightieth time, and have just reached the point of Dumbledore's talk with Harry. I'm escaping from the mess of papers beside me on the couch, the done and undone homework that I cannot bear to sift through, the reminders of all that I have missed due to my unfortunate circumstances of having a squeezing, pinching PAIN inside my forehead, eyes, and temples. My rereading of books is escapism, my addiction to my laptop is escapism, my love of television is escapism, my short attention span, my hatred of slow music, the need to listen to my iPod so loud that I can feel my brain reverbrating inside of my skull. All to leave my reality. We all do it, for one reason or another. Reading my blog, for instance, is escapism, though you may not realize it. Escaping into someone else's problems. That's why everyone reads People magazine. Why newspapers like the New York Times (a personal favorite of mine), where you read about world events that effect everybody, is tossed aside in favor of Town & Country, which covers the true enigma of the lifestyles and exploits of the wealthy. Escapism is a funny thing. It is avoidance. Unfortunately, it is also one of my favorite things.

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