Those complaints. I feel as if I'm being hypocrite for doing the same, but if I do not say something I feel I will burst.
It's as if when I find some solace and some camaraderie in something, I'm dashed by those that do not find the same. Samual Sewall was an interesting yet typical Puritan, as I recently learned, and his diary is a trove of information for historians wanting a glimpse of early New England. However, I guess vampires are more interesting or whatever it is young people read these days. Not once do I want to hear someone falling asleep to a book they have not found interesting or entertaining. You can do it, but don't let that phrase ring in in my ear. Not again.
I feel so isolated.
Was I the only one who read the book in interest? Was I the only one who laughed? Was I the only one who awed at how children could speak and or recite Latin when I struggled with it as a child myself? What am I to do? Should I cry? Should I scream? Should I stamp out in consternation?
No man is an island they say, funny, I feel I am one in an ocean of disinterested hedonists.