Rating: 5/5 Stars


So, there are a number of reasons why I enjoy reading. Or, perhaps more accurately, why I enjoy reading so much that I feel like I must read every single one of the books that exist on this planet. It could be to learn something new – some bit of history, a new skill .. it could be for pure entertainment – let’s get real, I once read an erotic novel about Big Foot (appropriately titled “size matters”) … or maybe its just my personal mania to have a collection of all of the things .. all of the books, all of the chapsticks, all of the recipes. But what kind of impostor collection would it be if I hadn’t actually read all of the books … or used all of the nail files …

Forget everything I’ve just said. It’s shit.

I read to make a connection. To know that the thoughts in my head are not stuck in there all alone. That, in fact, someone out there had the same thought. Sure, the person who believes said thought may be a fictional character – but if a character expressed it, that means that somewhere out there, that same little thought ran through a real-life human’s brain and made it’s way onto this printed piece of paper in my hand.

So what magical thought gave me this connection I was looking for – and then pushed all of these sentences out into this post? This little bit about cockroach families that I will now share with you:

“Normally, I didn’t kill the cockroaches in my room — not because I particularly enjoyed having them around, but because my imagination is a great and luminous force. I imagined cockroach mothers bringing trap-poison back to their children, and looking around in bewilderment as they all died. I imagined the baby cockroach funerals. I imagined cockroach news anchors talking about the sudden wave of mysterious killings that had befallen their community. I imagined the terrible earthquake-like trembling my boot would bring to their happy land, the anti-foot rallies that would be held by a scared-yet-brave populace. I couldn’t live with myself if I were the instigator of all that.”

So there it is. The same thoughts I have about killing bugs. What about the bug’s lover? WON’T SHE BE DISTRAUGHT WITH GRIEF?? And then depending on my emotional stability for the day, well, minute … tears. Real tears about imagined bug slaughter and the equally-imagined repercussions.  

And this was just the start for me. Jasmine’s entire chapter lit up a little connection frenzy for me that continued straight through – ramped my pace up from a few dozen pages every couple of nights to pulling an all-nighter. One shot, done. I could include a large, large number of little excerpt jewels here with you but … I think the cockroaches really say it all.

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