Is it weird that I almost started crying while reading a book about zombies? I shed a tear, doesn’t count as full-blown crying. I’m reading World War Z by Max Brooks (which a dear Mike loaned to me) and while I was waiting around a truck stop–no, really–I was reading the section about a 20-something woman who is mentally and emotionally a four-year-old, and she was describing the time during the “Great Panic” when she and her mother were hole up in a church, hoping they would be safe from the undead onslaught. When her mother said to her, “I won’t let them get you” I genuinely choked up.
This is a good book, I’m really enjoying it. What’s dampening my enjoyment of it, though, is all the other reading I need to do for my classes that start next week.
Stupid adulthood. Responsibility sucks.