Literary Overdose

While I’d like to believe I haven’t written anything because I haven’t eaten, that is not the case. Not by a long shot. Trouble is, I’m rarely at home, except for the weekends, when I work. The rest of my days are spent in Ames. Where my head is filled with the euphoria of happiness and taking pictures of food is not exactly a priority. I have cooked though. I’ve made casseroles, muffins, soups, and all manner of other foodstuffs. But alas, my beloved camera is safe in her case. The hassle of searching for USB cords apparently has lost its thrill since October ended. Thats and the fact that I desperately need more RAM, what with the ever increasing amount of images and music on my macbook. 

Instead of baking with my heart and soul, I’ve been baking with just my heart. My soul and mind have been preoccupied with the written word. Paperbacks, comics, anthologies, newspapers, journals, and all other forms of permanent thought. I have developed quite the appetite for literature. Well its an appetite I’ve always had, but its been dormant for a while now. Maybe its a seasonal thing. Now that the weather is getting shiftier I find myself looking for ways to preoccupy myself. I have quite the list of activities, but I always end up getting sucked into a book and those noble craft and art ideas are placed on the back burner once again. 

Currently I’m absorbed in “The Best American Nonrequired Reading: 2005” edited by Dave Eggers. Its published yearly and is a collection of the best overlooked gems of the year. Go find one, really. And I just finished “Answered Prayers” by Truman Capote. And before that “Fraud” by David Sedaris, and before that “Invisible Monsters” by the ever fabulous Chuck Palahniuk. 

There was no rhyme of reason to these choices. They just jumped out at me from the piles of books in my sweethearts den. A den that looks surprisingly like that of a criminal. But fear not, he isn’t. Its just the effect of the plastic taped over the window (for heating purposes, not illicit activities). These books look at me like puppies in a window. Pick me, oh god please pick me I can’t stand being with these other books. I’ve been laying on top of this Sinclair for ages and I can’t take it anymore. Its so damn depressing. At least move me over by Vonnegut. I need some humor after being surrounded by turn of the century muckraking. 

If this group of random books had been puppies in a window they certainly would have been poodles. Toys at that. Maybe a pug and a yorkie for giggles. Beautiful little creatures with treacherous stories. Though the dogs are of the genetic type; inbreeding and health problems. Well thats also in the books I suppose, but its accompanied by copious amounts of drugs. Which I have a hard time imagining a down-on-his-luck maltese popping vicadin and diazepam. 

I think I need a break from the drugged out, homosexual, debauchery found in my recent reads. Its becoming a trend without my choosing. These are the puppies that keep yipping so insistently. I think next time I’ll go for the quiet little mutt in the back. Something that’ll lick my hand and lay his sleepy head on my arm.

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