All Wrapped Up

This past weekend I set to work on a book I started reading last summer. I bought it to take on my trip to Japan, and have been slowly pecking away at it until this past weekend, when I attacked it full force. Tonight I just put the damn thing to bed.

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The Stand

Last summer a friend recommended Stephen King's The Stand as an easy read for a vacation. I rushed right out and bought it in all of it's unabridged, re-released splendor. That splendor spanned more than 1100 thinner than air pages, that seemed to have negative thickness as I slowly plodded through the story.

I would spend hours at a time reading, taking on the experiences of the characters as if I were right there with them. I would celebrate their victories and share in their defeats, and when the afternoon was over - SHIT, that's as far as I got?!? 1/32"? Four hours for 1/32 of an inch!?!

Well, this past weekend I put a 300 page hurting on that book. Tonight I sat down with it hoping to make another dent in the paltry 200-ish pages I had left. As the hours rolled by I found myself unable to set the book down until I finally turned the last page. I wanted to read the little blip about the author but fuck that shit, I had enough. Plus it's not like Stephen King is some obscure author that I can learn about and then tell others.

Now, I'm creeped the hell out. At 11:45PM I went out to get my clothes from the clothes line when an ant stepped on a leaf and I almost crapped my pants. A little on edge? Methinks so.

And now I shall try to sleep.

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Over and Out,
Old Coot

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