Sometimes I think that heaven is continuous and tireless reading. Woolf
When I am constantly tired and busy, I often look at the pile of books in my study, full of longing for heaven. With this yearning, my situation has a hellish contrast effect. On March 8, I was a little fed up. No matter what hints and cultural definitions this festival has, I am determined to interrupt my inherent rhythm of life and work and terminate many budding activity plans. I declare to my family: I only study today. At the same time, I warned myself: You must quit the Internet today.
It took less than three seconds to pick books in the study, and even the time for picking books should not be squandered. In fact, it doesn't take that much time. Those books that are eager to read have already queued up, just like brave and eager soldiers before going out. I chose a long story. People and books are thrown on the bed together. It seems that only reading in bed is worthy of this paradise.
Reading is arbitrary. That book is made of my favorite lightweight paper, but the printing font is awkward and arranged in official script. If I have to make the words unusual, I prefer to read the ancient books in bulk, such as the Four Series, and the movable type regular script. Although meticulous, there are some handwriting and clerical errors, and the front and back fonts may be slightly harmless. I prefer to see it in calligraphy exhibition halls and calligraphy classics than official script. The consistency of reading novels is hindered from time to time by this kind of computer official script. However, the unhappiness is only slight. For a hungry reader, rice mixed with stones is unacceptable, but if you just change the beautiful blue and white porcelain bowl into rice, you will have to endure it for a while.
That day, I was very satisfied with my diet. I swallowed a novel from morning till one o'clock the next morning. Moreover, when I was studying, I was completely a reader, not a writer. Some of my abilities have retreated beyond the realm of reading, only my tentacles quietly spread out and sneak along with the words. At the end of the day, I am like a heavy sponge that burps. In fact, I saved one of the three meals this day. The concepts of hunger and satiety seem to have nothing to do with the diet of the stomach, but they are related to my own absorption state.
Say something that has nothing to do with reading. That night, when I put down my book to feed the flowers and plants on the balcony, I found a layer of sorrel on the surface of the flowerpot with bougainvillea. Oxalis will always have white hair. White hair is the dialect of Chaoshan people, which means wildness. The first white-haired oxalis must have been brought by a sparrow intentionally or unintentionally. Later, it grew one after another, and all the flowerpots had gaps. Every spring, there is a wonderful performance. Spring has come, and Oxalis has drawn a perfect ending for this sacred day.
Oxalis continues to sprout and grow, and the balcony is lush. Soon, purple flowers were held high one after another. These days, I have returned to the busy work and life track. Just because the nourishment from heaven is still there, my anxiety has eased a little. Strange to say, I have never been anxious because I can't write, but I often feel anxious when I have no time to read. As a writer, I don't know whether this is good or bad.
Reading in heaven is still far from me. Fortunately, there is a window at home to spy on heaven. I just need to stop what I'm doing and wait and see. The window of this paradise usually leads to the rattan chair in my living room. Sometimes there will be a person lying on the sofa, reading books continuously, not tired at all. He is actually very close to me. He is my husband. I call him old Populus euphratica. Old Populus euphratica often helps me with my work, work, life and even his state. However, he has the ability to settle down quickly in reading. Just like the real Populus euphratica, it seems that that arrogant attitude has lasted for thousands of years. Old Populus euphratica has many interesting stories about reading. Not only is he addicted to books, but he often goes to the library. A few days ago, he borrowed a book from the library and accidentally saw a library card with three stickers, but his own name was hanging there alone. It has been almost two years since the library registered with the computer. Undoubtedly, this book has been waiting for so many years just to compete with the two games of Populus euphratica. What is even more surprising is that the date of borrowing books many years ago was the same as this time, and time seemed to be stuck in this book. His lifelong friendship with this book shines with touching brilliance in this spring sunshine.
No wonder. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I see old Populus euphratica get up in the middle of the night, and his thin face is slightly drunk. You Mao, a poet in the Song Dynasty, once had an allusion of "Four Dangs": Hungry reading is meat, cold reading is fur; Read when you are lonely, and read when you are sad. It seems that it is not far away.
The gap in this state is too big. I'm still starving in Somalia, and I'm drunk as a flower.
How did the gates of heaven open to me?
I've learned that when hell doesn't take me in, the door of heaven will naturally burst open.
I'm sick. Sitting at a desk for a long time, my waist muscles are strained and my activities are limited, so I can only stay in bed. Busy forced to leave me.
Old Populus euphratica took the books I wanted and read them one by one. Just as another book bought online came, he took down his bag and put it on my bedside. I was surprised and delighted to keep those books, as if they were untrue and true. Although, when I turn over, my waist still hurts, although my tired palm often can't grasp the weight of a book and I have to turn over again and again. However, what does it matter? Before I went to heaven to have a big meal, I smelled heaven.
I read another long story. I read a new article written by my favorite woman writer. I read Hannah Allen's People in the Dark Ages, a close-up of her contemporaries, and two biographies written by others. I read Shu Bigger's When I was a Young Man and Sixteen Voices in the Flowers written by a delicate woman, and studied sixteen kinds of objects, such as screens, pillows, combs and oral fat. , appeared in some poems of Tang and Song Dynasties ... Yes, it was just browsing. No one has set a recipe and an example for heaven. Only I am sure that I am in heaven.
The earth didn't stop working because I stopped working. I secretly sigh with emotion for a while, but also happy for a while. After reading these books, my waist muscles have gradually improved. I can get out of bed and look at the flowers and plants on the balcony by the window. The afternoon sun shines on the lanterns of Oxalis, which has a vigorous beauty. My heart is dark and fertile because of the double nourishment of the sky and the sorrel. The bougainvillea, which we used to manage attentively, was bound and ignored.
The road to heaven may be a mistake.