Since I felt ill today, I did as many people do when they find that standing up to get a drink feels like the equivalent of running a marathon: I read a book. It was not a good book, but it was entertaining and not mentally taxing. Not taxing, that is, until near the end when the main character battled a combination of major psychological stress (have you ever learned that you don’t exist and that your entire concept of yourself was fabricated by your covert ops unit? no? well, this guy has), physical injury, and (since that clearly wasn’t enough at this climactic moment in the plot) altitude sickness. Corny, right? Right. But even so, it hurt. So now I’m squirming a little, but I’m also laughing at myself for getting that invested in such a corny plot.

p.s. If this post didn’t make any sense to you, here’s the backstory and my clarification of some points.