It’s official. I’m going to have to read my book club’s latest selection, The Art of Racing in the Rain, which needs to be finished by July 14 anyway, instead of squeezing something a little darker in beforehand. I’m in the mood for ‘dark’ or even ‘wretching’ but it looks like that’ll have to wait because I cannot make up my mind on what to read. So….. The Art of Racing in the Rain it is. Hey, I hear this is a sweet story, so it’s not like I’m dreading it or anything, but it looks simple and quick, like one of those books you can knock down in a day or two, and it’s got a dog narrator who I’m sure is going to die (or maybe is already dead??) and this kind of story can totally destroy my emotional stability. And my emotion health is already crippled enough by this crazy memoir I’m writing — which, as a side note, also has its list of dead dogs — so you see where I’m coming from.
I mean, really, I barely, barely survived the end of Marley and Me. I even refused to see the movie version of Marley because I just could not — could not — watch that sweet dog meet his maker again. One of my favorite books growing up was The Call of the Wild and I can’t read that anymore either.
Here goes nothin’. You’ll probably hear me bawling all the way to wherever you live.