The Epic of Gilgamesh

Title: The Epic of Gilgamesh
Author: Anonymous

Length: 128 pages

Publisher: Penguin Classics

Rating: 4/5

Short-and-Stupid Synopsis: Gilgamesh is a total bastard until he meets his brother-from-another-mother, Enkidu. They have a bromance and kill a giant. Enkidu dies and Gilgamesh gets angry. Gilgamesh learns that the afterlife is totally fucking scary. He wanders around, meets  totally-not-Charon and totally-not-Noah who tells a Biblical flood story. Gilgamesh dies, people grieve.

Favorite Quote: "She answered, 'Gilgamesh, where are you hurrying to? You will never find that life for which you are looking. When the gods created man they allotted to him death, but life they retained in their own keeping. As for you, Gilgamesh, fill your belly with good things; day and night, night and day, dance and be merry, feast and rejoice. Let your clothes be fresh, bathe yourself in water, cherish the little child that holds your hand, and make your wife happy in your embrace; for this too is the lot of man.'"

Well, this is as good a place to start as any.

I first read "The Epic of Gilgamesh" in 2007 during my first year of college. It was assigned to us in my World Literature class of which I was completely enamored -- I had an instructor that was incredibly intelligent and witty and a class that was both engaged and thoughtful. I remember being enthralled with this work at the time. It was two in the morning on a weekday early in the winter. I was sprawled out on my hideaway-bed-slash-loveseat that I'd purchased for sixty dollars from the consignment shop just across the street from my apartment. The loveseat was mustard yellow with a nauseating floral pattern, but the mattress in the pullout looked as though it had never been used. The whole thing weighed several hundred pounds and it took the help of several people to haul it up three floors in my apartment building. It was the first piece of furniture I ever purchased and I was extremely fond of it, even if it did smell a bit mildew-y.

My apartment was comfortable, but chilly, mostly because I didn't understand how to correctly use the thermostat. It was my first year out on my own and I was, one might say, extremely naïve to the complexities of life away from the comforts of parents who would attend to one's every need. Dinner for that evening was the usual: a five dollar pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut that had been sitting in the refrigerator for far too long (I was frequently ill and never attributed this to spoiled food; I would purchase twenty-some dollars in pizza at a time and live on that for two weeks, thinking I was being thrifty).

As I turned the pages with thirsty eyes, I couldn't help but wonder what the next day would bring. Turning page after page was effortless, I could keep reading, reading to eternity. I was excited to return to my instructor's class and fill my mind, heart, and soul with knowledge.

Today, I rubbed my glazed eyes and struggled to stay awake at 5:30 p.m. I wrapped my body in layers of blankets, wedged into the corner of my large three-piece leather sectional. I was trying to multitask, alternating between looking at my phone, reading posts on social media and other peoples' happy lives and attempting to fully grasp what I was reading. A book that should have only taken two hours to read ended up taking nearly six, because I couldn't detach from the subtle pull of the Internet and technology and likes and pokes and emoticons and funny videos and political vomit and he said she said drama drama another wedding another baby another vacation waves beaches sublime bliss.

Sometimes I ask myself: what happened to that passion? What happened to that drive to read and live with reckless abandon? Where am I hurrying to?

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