For a Great Read Call Nick

Nick came over earlier in the week and brought a bag of books from his shelves for me to read. My favorite thing is to read a good book and have a good nap every day. When I work that schedule out I feel I'm living right. Oh I could find enough urgent chores to do every day, but the world will not end if I spend the whole day reading. And with a book as good as this, I can think of nothing better to do, unless it involved writing a book this beautifully written. I just started it to calm myself this afternoon, but I'm already hooked on the gorgeous writing and the WWI setting in a village in France. In case you don't do backwards (or mirror) reading, the translated title is By A Slow River, written by Phillippe Claudel (winner of the Prix Renaudot)

There is a translator's note that says, in French the novel is called Les Ames Grises--litterally, The Gray Souls. Just my favorite kind of book. I do not look for shallow, entertaining and commercial fare when reading books. I hate, positively hate Stephen King. He may be very diverting and grab you by the throat, but I prefer subtlety and depth to entertainment. Yes, dear, I know I'm a snob.

Grief Turns to Rage

I visited my friend Z yesterday. Her middle son is the only family member staying with her now. He believes that the mind is all it takes to heal the body. If she had her mind in the "right space" or some shit like that, she could heal herself. I want to scream when she tells me this, but wait to see what else she says. She says she plans to get the PET scan today and then plan from there. So far she hates every oncologist at the Huntsman Institute. Why? Because they tell her this cancer cannot be treated with radiation and diet alone. Some doctor in Peteluma has told her that it can be treated with just radiation and diet. She hasn't met the doctor in Peteluma, but she has talked to him on the phone and likes his "approach." I have choked back so much incredulity and anger that I'm about poisoned by my own rage and frustration. I know it won't help her if I argue with her, so I tell her I'm glad she's found a doctor she "believes in."

This morning two things have happened to flip my switch from mild irritation to full blown screaming, out of control rage. Marley was outside for ten minutes. When I let her in I noticed she peed on the second step down from the porch. Then she waltzes in the house and shits on the rug. I calmly clean it up and put her back outside. Then I lost my internet connection. I tried to fix it myself to no avail. I called Comcast. It took two tries to fix the problem but by the second try I was so pissed-off I was screaming. Seriously. Screaming! Now it works again, but I'm poisoned by the flood of adrenalin coursing through my system. I'll now back slowly away from the computer and call my shrink for an emergency appointment.