This too shall pass

There's nothing like being on page 1 of a 1,079 page book. I've decided to read Infinite Jest. I need a distraction, and I always liked ol' Dave. No one has ever captured the horrors of being on a cruise vacation better. And we sort of lived parallel lives, growing up in university towns in the middle of hick states. Except that he went on to be a brilliant writer and then killed himself, and I became, uh, me.

I remember when this book came out, back in the day. I was a young thing who thought, "Who the hell has time to sit and read that?" Not knowing, of course, that that precise moment was the most time I would ever, ever have in my adult life. Hindsight rocks.

I decided to reconsider the Infinite Book on the advice of my friend Hollie. First of all, I try to do everything Hollie says. And second of all, she said it took her three months to finish it.

Three months. That's a nice amount of time. Perfect for a fugue state.

See, I'm hoping to get so involved in this book that I sink into a literary fugue state that Sibyl would be proud of. A fugue state like the ones I often experience at Target, when I walk in to get a tube of toothpaste and walk out three hours later with three new outfits, a battery charger, a few throw pillows and a lawn game set.

And when I come out this time, I'll once again have the gift of hindsight.

There are certain points in time--like, say, 9/11--when you're in the middle of the shit and you think, I wish I could just fast forward 6 months. To a point when this tragedy is more of a memory. When life has indeed gone on. Frankly, I could use a good fast-forward button about now.

I'd like to close the binding on this book in April and realize that this too has passed. Knees are healed. Messes cleaned up. Avocations found. People who are extremely pissed at me, well.....less so. Hell, maybe I'll have forgiven myself.

I'll think, I've made it through the book and so much more. Then I'll pick up the next book, hopefully something really trashy (preferably bad science fiction) and keep moving forward. It's not that I want to escape. I just want it to be later. And I am happy to have this monstrous, wordy, gargantuan wank of a book to keep me company while later happens.

So if you'll excuse me, I have 1,078 pages to finish. Should be interesting. I'll let you know how it ends.