Reading makes my head hurt
“Eish: so i went to bed thinking about who i would poop on last night”
These are the things I am greeted with in the morning. To be fair, I should explain how this all came about. Yesterday at lunch I asked my friends, “If you were a bird, who would you poop on- name anyone alive or dead.” No one really had an answer, but I made some of them promise to tell me when they figure it out. Eish still hasn’t, and this was her “Good Morning” to me.
I mentioned yesterday that I’m reading Atlas Shrugged. I should clarify when I say “read.” To me, I can’t just read and be done with it- it’s not a string of words, obviously, we all imagine the scene, the characters, and the rest of it. But I really pull apart the writing. Why is she using full names? What does that say about the character. What does it mean when she says “She had never heard the symphony before, but she knew it was one of his” (or something to that affect). I guess what I’m saying is that i look for meaning in everything, and it’s hard work.
It’s one of the reason’s Heart of Darkness is a favorite of mine, 80 pages of dense, intentional writing- each line a multitude of meanings, like an everlasting Gobstopper we could pull that apart and find meaning over and over. How insulting that my English professor was worried if the book was “racist” or not. There was so much more to it than that.
I digress, Ayn Rand will be the death of me. 1000+ pages of heart of darkness(que?) writing, and it’s that tiny print, the kind on the bottom of an infomercial. I must say I’m enjoying it so far, even though I don’t know shit about it yet (who is John Galt?). Now if I could just kick my roommate out long enough to actually read a bit of it in peace 
“Don’t be seduced into thinking that that which does not make a profit is without value.“