A little while ago, an hour or two at most, I finished reading a book called "Crazy Jack", by Donna Jo Napoli. After a while, I subconsciously did a critical analysis as I tend to do from time to time. I was comparing Jack, the main character, to Xing Xing (pron. "Shing Shing"), the main character from another one of her fabled books, "Bound". I reasoned why I felt like Bound was a special book to me, and figured that it was because of the reader positioning. Xing Xing was in a quagmire, and had a bleak, perfunctory life. You couldn’t help but pity her, and rejoice in her deus ex machina. Jack had something of a different story. I actually said this to myself.
"I can’t sympathise as much with Jack because he’s… Crazy."
Note: I will begin reading the four Dickens’ books shortly, perhaps after lunch. I have until 10am on Wednesday to finish all of them (848 pages- oh crap!) and suspect that I won’t be sleeping for a while. Eugene’s party is tomorrow, at lasercorps (laser tag in an open field with various assignments- protect a VIP while the opposing team sets up an ambush, capture the flag, capture the hill, all out death match etc. They give you real army camo and an assortment of sniper rifles, automatics and the likes. I can scarecly wait to blow his brains out. Figuratively speaking) taking another huge chunk out of my time. Ah well.
I’ve also learned (supposedly) 213 words. At least, that’s how many are in my little notebook for words I come across in books that I don’t know the precise meaning of. Realistically, I can remember maybe 50 of them. Alas, I must go. Damn Charles Dickens.