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Well. It took me a day to read that book, and in that time I’ve concluded that writers need to stop turning out books that make me hate all the characters and finish the last sentence in a rage. (Not George R.R. Martin, understand…he’s managed to transcend the love/hate factor with regard to a number of his major characters. Well…the ones that aren’t dead yet.)

I don’t feel quite as strongly as I did when I finished reading Gone Girl, but I think I’m sufficiently put off about reading any more of this guy’s books.

I’m also unhappy to see that it was enough to put an idea back into my mind that we have not turned over in a while. And are happy to let alone, I think, although now that it’s come up again I am having a hard time doing that.

There is a particular person I have in mind because of this book, and I am unnerved by how relieved I think I would be to never see or speak to them again. Even my Wolf thinks that’s a fine idea, and I think he is agreeing a little too eagerly. Although because that me always thinks of how to make a thing worse, I’ve been speculating off and on about whether the same thing has occurred to them. To this other person. That it would be nice to never see or speak to me again.

And then I have that argument with myself that I have always had, about how stupidly oblivious (perhaps guileless is the correct word here?) this person is…and then the counter-argument that it cannot be possible for one to be that way…that it would only be possible if one were willfully ignorant–and for years! Not even just a few, but fourteen! It cannot be possible.

But…there is the ever-stretching silence. And now that we are thinking of it, we wonder. And I would have written to K about it, since that is part of what our friendship these past eight years has been based on…but I expect she must think I’ve moved past it. (Of course I have!)
I’ve never considered what I will say to her if she observes that this person is not at the wedding. The truth, I expect. And then hope we leave it at that.

Ach. What an absurd thing to be worrying over now.
I should do something productive, like finish putting away laundry and go to bed.