This summer I went to Lake Michigan with my family. There I watched my cat and my husband die. This grief feels fresh. And heavy. I am near tears now, again, all the time. It is now clear to me why I stayed so angry for so long. It was to avoid this feeling.
I am a voracious reader. Eclectic taste, driven to absorb others' insights and ideas, I enjoy a good sexy beach book as well as meaningful abstracts that need concentration and creative energy. All I require is that they be well written. I don't remember authors or titles, or even most of the plots, but I absorb directly into my psyche the characters and the author's beliefs.
I haven't been able to read in a very long time now. Instead I am addicted to gaming, online mostly. I play video games and word games and puzzles obsessively. It is mentally demanding enough to require that I not worry or anguish about other things, but doesn't require the kind of attention that a good read does. Books take me to another world but require some work and an altered consciousness. Games let me escape the daily grind and pain, without requiring any great expenditures of mental energy.
The beach has expanded in meaning this summer. Ludington has become about learning how to let go, and let be.