Another Painful Night and my dear friend "Lolita"

Another painful day, another painful night. I went to the doctor on Friday and was told that my massive infection had spread to my bladder and kidney. I feel lightheaded, exhausted, fatigued and dizzy. I did not go to work and spent most of the day at the doctors office. The doctor put a catheter up my urethra and helped me release some of the bent up urine. It hurt so much, but felt so much relief at the same time.

I came home and attempted to go about my normal business. When I needed to urinate, it would remind me how raw and engorged my insides were and how much pain I was in. Needless to say, I did not sleep a wink last night from the pain inside of my body. I did, however, got my hands on the books I am reading and dove right into "Lolita" once again.

Chapter 1. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-li-ta. The tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap at three on the teeth: Lo-li-ta.”

A critic of "Lolita" Wrote: "The first thing he does is make us feel words in our bodies, and especially in the mouth and in the tongue, in that very sensuous way. So, that’s the first thing that his style does for us: it makes us align ourselves--in the way that some of you were talking about earlier--not just to identify our minds with the point of view of this particular person, this particular character, but actually to move your body, and to feel something bodily that he wants you to feel, to share that sensuous experience with him."

Amazing, right? An excerpt of the book:

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did. Indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved one summer a certain initial girlchild in a princedom by the sea. Oh, when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs--the misinformed simple noble-winged seraphs--envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.

I love it. I am diving into this book with the little passion that is left in me. I need something to hold and grasp.. for now, it's just books.