“An overdue book from 1971? This is a joke, right?”

The Outsider, by Stephen King

I finished reading, The Outsider, by Stephen King.  I read it over the course of two days because it wouldn’t leave me alone.  Stephen King is just showing off at this point.  He’s cracked the passwords to our private fear vaults, and rifled through that old shit we only think about in nightmares.  Then he baited the novels hook with psychological crack.  Even the artwork on the cover got me.

I didn’t get much sleep between readings.  At least not the type that leaves me feeling rested.  I had vivid stress dreams, but couldn’t remember them when I awoke.  My usual trigger of being stuck in an impossible-to-survive situation, no doubt.  Despite this, I’m glad I read it.  It will take some pondering time to nail down what I gained from the book, but I suspect it’s a better understanding of people.

Before The Outsider, I read The Plantagenets: The Warrior Kings and Queens Who Made England, by Dan Jones.  I learned a lot, and am surprised how much I enjoyed it.  It’s closer to a textbook than I usually read for pleasure.  (I heard the narration in the voice of Robin Leach because the author was also delightfully snarky.)  I’m such a doof.

curious kitten

I also produce the movie of whatever novel I’m reading in my head as I go.  I pick the cast using famous actors I favor.  Usually, Lupita Nyong’o, Charlize Theron, Rosario Dawson, Regina King, and Natalie Portman are in everything.  So are Denzel Washington, Tom Hanks, and Matt Damon.  Excellence is like play-doh.  You can mold it to any form.  And I still suck at analogies.  🙃

Now I’m reading a hilarious novel titled, The 100-Year-Old-Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared, by Jonas Jonasson.  It reminds me of Forrest Gump, so far.  It’s going to get me in trouble for laughing so hard after 11 PM.  I’m surprised by how (emotionally) uninvested I am in the characters while still enjoying it so much, though.  It’s likely to change as I read further.  (I hope.)

I’m guessing there’s a hidden symbolic character sucking up all my likes.  As much as I read, I don’t think of myself as a lit geek, because it takes me a while to recognize all the cool stuff in well-written novels;  like irony and hidden symbolic characters.  Let’s blame it on saccharin.  🤫  My band has a gig tonight, so I’m trying to fend off that bitch, Anxiety.  I’m winning, but the adrenalin is still releasing against my will.  I’m relying on the likelihood, whatever happens, will probably seem funny at this time tomorrow.  💜

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