Meh

It's funny (not funny haha) that I feel totally divorced from the world of books, lituracher, a land that I so desperately tried to swim for, but alas, alack, to no avail. I feel odd this morning. I have taken my second Vitamin D 50000mg pill (Normal range in a body: 32-100. Vitamin D in my body: 4). Plus the first of the Iron pills (yes, deficient in that too. No numbers though.) Anyway, what I meant about books is that I read reviews. I used to write the titles down, wanting to read them. But mostly now I think: what's the point of this book? Is this a part of depression? The not liking what one used to like? Or jealous me, saying why him (usually a him) and not me. If it wasn't meant for me, why did I try for it for so long. What was for me and how did I miss it? Or is it that some people just fail, just don't win the prize, just aren't the fortunate one?