On Easter, Gayla asked me if I liked to read. I said yes. I do like to read. But it’s been a while since I opened a book for my own enjoyment. Not like I did in middle school or in the summers during high school.

So yesterday I read Mom’s blog, took her advice, and went to Barnes & Noble to buy The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. Spencer bought “Congo” by Michael Chrichton (Jurassic Park dude.)

Oh. My. Gosh. Part-Time Indian? Amazing.

I’m done with it now. And I’m yelling at Rowdy, the character’s best friend. And I’m holding back tears. And I’m laughing because the book Junior, the main character, was so darn funny. And I’m relieved because Junior is honest and honesty feels so good.

And now I want to go back to Barnes & Noble and read something else that is not my German assigned reading.

Because I do NOT want to read Michael Kohlhaas. It’s about stupid horses.

I don’t have a horse problem or anything. Actually I really do like horses.

But I READ about horses and I think about people in elementary/middle/high school with horse folders and horse stickers and horse pictures and horse drawings and horse stuffed animals and horse posters and horse binders and pencils and T-shirts and headbands.

And I want to die.

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