missing people who aren't real

I'm sitting here feeling melancholy, listening to someone's music playlist.  My ipod is neither nearby or charged so this will have to do though I must say it's not nearly as inspiring as options I'd choose off my own list.  I have found a couple new artists though as a bright side.  On the flip side, I think these songs are adding to the melancholy.  I'm just melancholy enough to think today is surely Sunday though I know it's not; it's Monday.  Funny, that I prefer a day that is synonymous with bad to the supposedly carefree and relaxing Sunday.  

I've met some new friends recently.  They're imaginary.  Like the music, they don't belong to me either. And now they've gone on their way to live their lives in someone's space.  Even with the mocking I've taken from family and friends I'll miss them and I hope someday they enter my life again though I know it will be short-lived.

With this departure I've decided I need a rebound.  I'm not too familiar with rebounds though so I'm certain my methodology is beyond flawed.  I've moved on to some of THEIR favorites rather than delving into something that would have been mine.  I'm hoping to make another new friend or to at least enjoy a change of scenery.

THIS is exactly why I read non-fiction to begin with, so I should have seen it coming.  It's my own fault.  THIS is why I read about real people who are flawed regardless of how good they are.  I don't think I've ever become enthralled let alone obsessed over a real person, their life or the people in their life.  I mean, really, that would be crazy and potentially illegal.  But I can't help myself with some fictional characters.  I'm a character junkie - I'll read any crap plot you hand me if you develop the characters well enough.  I'm guessing it's got something to do with my imagination.  I must let it run in a different way when I read fiction than when I read nonfiction.

Perhaps the brightest part of the bright side of this is my renewed interest in not only reading, but writing.  I have not written for years.  I think I had the desire to write scared out of me in a small town in Colorado.  That was too long ago, and I keep saying I will use this blog to write more, or write better, but instead I don't use it at all.  So perhaps instead of, or better yet in addition to reading Ms. Austen, I should dust off The Portable MFA, Read like a Writer, or even just my dog ravaged copy of Bird by Bird.  I even went to the Columbus State website last night to see what fall classes they'd be offering.  Luckily the fall quarter class schedule is not up yet; it's for the best.  This will give me time to be sure this is nothing fleeting, but instead the rekindling of my relationship with writing - no rebound required.