I just finished Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston. I find that it all blends together. There is no separation between my own thoughts, the book, the music I am listening to (David Crowder, Intoxicating); the people I saw this morning (Joella, Jodi, Becky); the conversations I had, my aspirations, and disappointments. They all blend together.
Imagine, a rabid dog sitting on the back of a swimming cow, discussing death and God's purpose for life, to the sound of a twanging guitar; in the sky, a ribbon of possibilities written on a banner, waving behind a light airplane.
I don't know if it's mentally sound that characters in books should become so real to me. I don't know if it's a mark of soundness that conversations should be repeated verbatim (I really think so...) in my mind. Maybe I've been getting too much sleep. Or not enough.
I don't think what you describe is unusual or unhealthy, but I may be crazy too. I experience this sort of thing very often.
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