duck-shaped pain

 
 

1 October 2002
I hate you, book.

I'm spending my evening the same I way I spent much of the weekend: painfully slogging my way though this book, which is just dreadful. Wars and dates, followed by more wars and dates -- it's the sort of book which gives history a bad name. Plus, the topic (Indian removal in the early nineteenth century) is incredibly depressing, and the author tends to put exclamation points in at odd intervals, which is kind of jarring.

I consider myself to be a fast reader, and after three days of valiant attempts, I am only 112 pages into it, out of a possible 280. There is a pattern here: first I concentrate, and get a few pages read, and then get annoyed at the book, and then start spacing out, moving my eyes over the book without absorbing any of its information. Then I realize what's going on, and take another drink of wine. Or try to distract myself with anything else within arm's length that's readable: coupons, bills, catalogs, etc. Then it repeats again. I hate, hate, hate this book. I guess it would be best for me to deal with my hatred, and stop flinging the thing across the room.

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