From the Porn and Chocolate Book Club...

Dru's been working at Barnes and Noble. I asked him if he had anything to recommend to me, having finished with The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (one I recommend as well--thanks, Kristen). He wrote me saying that while he wasn't quite sure what my literary tastes were, knowing me he thought I'd like the book he just finished.

I go up after work, though in the opposite direction of home, to meet him, get the book, and do a 2-cigarette-break's worth of catch up on our lives (it's weird, if I don't see him one weekend, I feel like we have so much to catch up on--maybe because we generally have such chaotic weekends).

We chat. We talk about the show and who's on-deck to visit this weekend and sports. Yup. I've gotten a little into the Astros/UT stuff. Frightening, I know. But I think it's a little bit of Texan homesickness and the fact that these, my home teams, seem to be kicking ass. Apparently, they can only do that when I don't reside in the state.

I love the way Dru hugs me. He hugs everyone like that, at least the short girls. He's a big bear of a guy and he'll always wrap you up in a big hug and lift you off your feet. It has yet to not fill me with comfort. He's been a very good friend to me here in New York, and we get each other. I love Dru. And I love how odd it is between us and how sometimes we don't know how to look at each other, but being around him is always comforting.

He gives me this book. I have yet to put it down (except for the fact that I am at work, but I even bring it down for my smoke breaks so I can fit five more minutes and a page or two more in). It's this guy's memoir and if you've thought you've ever hit rock bottom, read this guy's story and it seems like dress-up for little girls. The way he writes it isn't preachy or condescending. It's just painful and clear and true. Go out and get it, folks. You won't be sorry.

Two of my favorite excerpts up until now:

"My face has gotten worse and it is hideously swollen. I have trouble speaking, eating, drinking, smoking. I have yet to look in a mirror. We stop in Minneapolis to see my older Brother. He moved there after getting divorced and he knows how to get to the Clinic. He sits with me in the backseat and he holds my hand and it helps because I'm scared. We pull into the Parking Lot and park the car and I finish a bottle and we get out and we start walking toward the Entrance of the Clinic. Me and my Brother and my Mother and my Father. My entire Family. Going to the Clinic. I stop and they stop with me. I stare at the Buildings. Low and long and connected. Functional. Simple. Menacing.
I want to run or die or get fucked up. I want to be blind and dumb and have no heart. I want to crawl in a hole and never come out. I want to wipe my existence off the map. Straight off the fucking map. I take a deep breath.
Let's go."

and

"The streams are lucid and clear and they run back and through and back and through and they meet and they lose empty forget and there is is is something something something I hardly know perfect calm. Clarity. Serenity. Peace.
My urges are gone. My heart is slow and steady. Everything I know and I am and I have seen felt done past present past now then before now seen felt done hurt felt focus into something beyond words beyond beyond beyond and it speaks now and it says.
Stay.
Fight.
Live.
Take it.
Cry.
Cry.
Cry."

And THAT people, is what the call the good shit.