Wednesday, September 14, 2005



I really like to read. It's right up there with movies and television as "hobbies" that don't so much require the actual doing of anything, so I'm a big fan. Since I've been out of school and not having to read big giant hard-to-understand theory texts, I've been reading tons of novels. Some I've loved and others have been a total chore to get through, but I always make myself finish them no matter what. There's always a chance that I'll get to a part, be it a page, paragraph or just a sentence, that I'll love so much or will hit me so hard I'll just read it over and over for like 10 or 15 minutes before I can move on. I just got to one of those parts in the book I'm reading now, The History of Love, so I thought I'd put it here. I recognize that is kinda pointless, but so is loving it and not showing it to anyone, right? And it's my blog, so I'll do what I want.

"When I'd finished the last page, I called Misha and let it ring twice before hanging up. This was a code we'd used when we wanted to speak to each other late at night. It had been more than a month since we'd last talked. I'd made a list in my notebook of all the things I missed about him. The way he wrinkles his nose when he's thinking was one. How he holds things was another. But now I needed to talk to him for real and no list would substitute. I stood by the phone while my stomach turned itself inside out. During the time I waited, a whole species of butterly may have become extinct, or a large, complex mammal with feelings like mine.
But he never called back. This probably meant he didn't want to talk to me."

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