Welcome to the month of sheer and utter lacking. June has flown by in a way that is reminiscent of a dark storm with high winds and torrential rain - for an utterly unoriginal metaphoric point of view.

On a more original note, June has been much like a pleasant drizzling of honey over pancakes. Slow, anticipated, and utterly delicious, albeit time consuming in its fluid, sloth-like movement. Staring at the honey has eaten up minutes otherwise spent chasing rabbits.

How about that?

So, this month hasn't been terrible, but it's been at a bit of a standstill in certain areas. I will finish Then We Came to the End one of the days. I will, I will, I will.

Until then, I still sit around and randomly wonder whether or not this is all meaningless or perfectly pieced together. I'll need to sort that out over the next few months; I need to figure if what The End talks about is what I want to put up with, once again, later this year. Tick, tick, tick.

"... good god, was work so meaningless? Was life so meaningless? It reminded him of when an ad got watered down by a client, and watered down, until everything interesting about the ad disappeared. Carl still had to write copy for it. The art director still had to put the drop shadow where the drop shadow belonged and the logo in its proper place. That was the process known as polishing the turd. [...] Sure, for the sake of survival, but more immediately, for the sake of some sadistic manager or shit-brained client whose small imagination and numbingly dumb ideas were bleaching the world of all relevancy and hope." (p. 237)

That about sums it up.

This will be brief, without a photo, and not about a book at all.

Instead, this will be about the MagNet conference I am currently attending in Toronto, and let me tell you, nothing makes you more jealous than sitting in a room with a famously published author chatting about it like it's no big deal. Well, okay. That's a lie. He did make it out to sound like a little bit of a big deal.

But still. Seriously.

So jealous.

THEN WE CAME TO THE END
Joshua Ferris
385 pages

You know what's terrible? Corporate events that take you away from home for four days, work you to the bone, provide little to no sleep, and leave you feeling as if you've been ravaged like you've been never been ravaged before.

Welcome to my week, last week.

Sure, I get time and a half banked hours and I was away from the office for 3 business days, but at the same time, I was mentally and physically exhausted to the point of wanting to murder my colleagues. Last I checked, that doesn't make for a harmonious and pleasant work environment. Or, three hour drive home. Either way.

Complaining aside, it was just like any other work related fiasco. There was plenty of drama and talking about others behind their backs. Work is like catty high school escapades all over again, I swear to God. Regardless, we chatted, we laughed, and we speculated about certain goings-on.

This workplace camaraderie is kind of what led me to Then We Came to the End. I read a review about it over at the Bookish community on LiveJournal where the individual reviewing it used the first two paragraphs of the novel to sell the writing, tone, and plot. It worked. I ran out and purchased the book the next day.

Why, you may ask, did I purchase it so hastily? In reading the first two paragraphs, I saw something in the tone and sentence structure of the novel that resonated with me. It resembled something I would have put together and so, I wanted to read about a similar story from someone else's perspective.

The downside? The two paragraphs used to sell the book in the review had been doctored for the review in question. Sentences had been removed. Words dropped. The paragraphs in the review sucked me in. The real paragraphs made me ache for what I had been led to believe was hiding between the covers of the novel I spent money to own.

Am I disappointed? Only slightly. Despite the initial frown on my face, I have still come to enjoy the novel thus far: characters, tone, and structure included. It wasn't exactly what I had envisioned or imagined, but it's coming together regardless.

After all, isn't it nice to read about characters - whether they be fake or real - who are going through the same office politics and drama you are? Especially since they're able to voice what you're thinking when you can't.

"Why was it so terrifying, almost like death, one morning of a hundred, to walk back to your own office and pass alone through its doorway? Why was the dread so suffocating? Most days, no problem. Work to be done. A pastry. Storm clouds out the window that looked, in their menace, sublime. But one out of a hundred mornings it was impossible to breathe. Our coffee tasted poisonous. The sight of our familiar chairs oppressed us. The invariable light was deadening." (p. 56)