My living arrangements have been less than optimal for quite sometime. For all concerned, not just me. During semester break I have allowed myself the treat of reading fiction. Not even really good fiction; Proust is not on my list.
Last week I read something called "Stiltsville" and for several days I pondered what it must feel like to dive and swim in clear, clear water. What it must be like to live in a house on fifteen foot high legs in the middle of a gulf with no land in sight. I imagined the taste of sea food pulled right out of the actual sea and popped into a pot of boiling, lemony water.
Today I finished "Ape House" and was reminded how much I loved telling my girls about KoKo learning to sign. I savored the description of the protagonist's wife's curly hair and the scientist's friend's many tattoos. I especially loved the food throwing scenes; both bonobo and human. The bad guys got theirs in this little novel.
I read those words and was totally unaware of the passage of time. When my back or arm finally hurt too much, I glanced at the clock and found that three hours had passed. Or twenty minutes. Or that the time for my next pain med had already slipped past. Remarkable! Time travel and distraction from physical agony! And, while I am conversing with the great apes or feasting on crab I am not here!
Books SO rock!
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