during those difficult weeks i found comfort reading David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day.
though my condition made concentration difficult, i managed through it, reading one chapter at a time or until as far as the running thoughts take over my imagination.
every line in every chapter of that book i wanted to highlight. they seemed funniest, the further i go, the funnier they seemed. this is not to discount the fact that the book itself was a collection of stories so each chapter would certainly be a different comical anecdote.
every time i highlighted i yearn for my reading friends. the more i highlighted the more i wish i still had them around--or at least had news ones to share the joy with. but there were none. At the end of every funny quote, funny line smothered in bright neon pink highlighter is the loneliness of knowing the end is nigh. there was comfort in knowing that the book and i shared these moments--i almost died laughing inside. and that's all to it.
i am sick and tired of sharing stuff on facebook; of posting about stuff i read and wishing to interest somebody to a meaningful discussion, like before 15 or 20 years ago, with my reading friends: sitting on a bench under a cool canopy of the school yard tree raving like maniacs about how great a book was and showing to each other the parts of great interest in the book (highlighted of course--but with just a pen or a pencil (too poor to get neon highlighters), skimming through each one of them, one after another, page after page, like how we would in a literature class.
but now, there is none. nothing viable for discussion beyond the deliberate curation of what should be in the public profile of these personalities--these commenters.
the books people read and reduced to a quote or two, from a page of a book recently opened, and closed, replaced back in the shelf once the beautiful, endearing quote has been retyped and posted on a status in facebook. the books and reading materials have been reduced to accessories, none of it provides room for eager discourse or enthusiastic analysis (over-analysis at times) of the things that one did not quite comprehend.
though my condition made concentration difficult, i managed through it, reading one chapter at a time or until as far as the running thoughts take over my imagination.
every line in every chapter of that book i wanted to highlight. they seemed funniest, the further i go, the funnier they seemed. this is not to discount the fact that the book itself was a collection of stories so each chapter would certainly be a different comical anecdote.
"Nobody dies on a Wednesday--hadn't these people learned anything?"
- from the chapter Learning Curve in Me Talk Pretty One Day
every time i highlighted i yearn for my reading friends. the more i highlighted the more i wish i still had them around--or at least had news ones to share the joy with. but there were none. At the end of every funny quote, funny line smothered in bright neon pink highlighter is the loneliness of knowing the end is nigh. there was comfort in knowing that the book and i shared these moments--i almost died laughing inside. and that's all to it.
i am sick and tired of sharing stuff on facebook; of posting about stuff i read and wishing to interest somebody to a meaningful discussion, like before 15 or 20 years ago, with my reading friends: sitting on a bench under a cool canopy of the school yard tree raving like maniacs about how great a book was and showing to each other the parts of great interest in the book (highlighted of course--but with just a pen or a pencil (too poor to get neon highlighters), skimming through each one of them, one after another, page after page, like how we would in a literature class.
but now, there is none. nothing viable for discussion beyond the deliberate curation of what should be in the public profile of these personalities--these commenters.
the books people read and reduced to a quote or two, from a page of a book recently opened, and closed, replaced back in the shelf once the beautiful, endearing quote has been retyped and posted on a status in facebook. the books and reading materials have been reduced to accessories, none of it provides room for eager discourse or enthusiastic analysis (over-analysis at times) of the things that one did not quite comprehend.
"...there's a reason regular people don't appear on TV: we're boring."
- from the chapter Nutcracker.com in Me Talk Pretty One Day
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