Reading the anxiety away. Trying to, anyway. Getting lost in someone else’s fictional shenanigans is weirdly satisfying. I just finished The Vegetarian, and whatever shortcomings I feel are present in my (comfortable) life, at the very least, its not that. Next, I want to read The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead, because historical fiction is my jam, and word is it’s an amazing read. Apparently everyone else in my city heard this too — the wait list for the book at my library is more than seventy people deep. My first instinct was to be annoyed at this, but then I thought it was kind of wonderful that other people were interested in reading it too.