Extremely Fast and Incredibly Slow

I read very quickly. Last week, I read five books. (I was also broke and on vacation.) None were particularly interesting, thought-provoking, or even that memorable. Perhaps that is why I read them so quickly. However, I started a book last night called Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer. He also wrote a pretty famous book called Everything is Illuminated, which I have yet to read. Anyway, I started reading this book last night, and was instantly so engaged that I *almost* passed up sex. Yes, sex. I almost never pass up sex, unless it's for food, in which case I have to play a mental game of Rock, Scissor, Paper to decide which to do first.

But I digress.

This book is heartbreaking. I want to cry every time I open it. Foer writes with a longing that is palpable. I can feel this book.

I usually devour books; I cannot get through them fast enough. When I was a kid, I used to read the last page of every book just to know how quickly or slowly I should read it.  Once, I locked myself in my room on Christmas Day and read Stephen King's Desperation, all 1.8 pounds of it, in one day. The next morning, when I triumphantly announced that I'd finished, my dad was pissed. "Why do I even bother buying books if you're just going to read them in one day?! Make them last a few days, for fuck's sake."

But this book is like my favorite meal.  When placed in front of me, I want to devour it and savour it. I'm starving and yet I want to taste every word. It is filet mignon: juicy, tender and full of flavor. Foer's words roll around in my mouth and in my brain and I never want him to stop writing. But I'm reading it as if it were Taco Bell: quickly, and without thinking.

Dad, I will try to make this last a few days, for fuck's sake.