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Bathroom Reading Rocks

Warning: this post discusses something so incredibly awesome your eyeballs are likely to explode on monitors and other electronic equipment. Consider yourself warned.

Some things are hard to say. Words choke in the throat. Cold fingers trip over keys. Sleepiness robs the mind of its sharpness. Synapses are replaced with teddy bear stuffing.

Yet it must be said.

The words must be forced out. They will be squeezed slowly and with purpose, zit-like. The entirety of meaning and expression, the enthusiasm and despair of everything will be pressed and molded into a loaf, a delicious loaf of meaning. Then the loaf will be eaten and everyone will know.

Emotion wells up within me. I cannot bear to hold it in any longer. The naked truth will burst out of me like 10 o’clock secrets at a cocktail party. Oh God here it comes. There is no stopping it! Reality is nigh upon us!


Oh sweet bathroom reading! Is there anything more delicious than reposing on the commode whilst leafing through a Spring 2010 LL Bean catalog? Or the William’s Sonoma quarterly left in your parents’ bathroom? Or the ancient Wal-Mart receipt found in a newly discovered jean pocket?

Could there be anything better than taking the extra 3-5 minutes to finish the chapter in one’s current book or lingering over the pictures in a coffee table affair on the beauty of the Rocky Mountains?

Once upon a time I was afraid of the people’s opinions. I felt suspicious glances when I went off the restroom and imagined others silently taking notice of my absence and judging me for any delays and marking down the state of my return. Shamefully and hurriedly I would perform the bathroom functions with machine-like efficiency. I did not enjoy the time I spent in the pooper.

But no longer.

Bathroom time is me time, and I’m going to take a freaking Dickens novel in there if I feel like it. I might not even be going using the toilet. Maybe I just wanted a quiet place where I don’t have to wear pants.

Let the masses think what they will, but make no mistake, the stack of reading next to my toilet is for exactly what they think it is, and if they’re human—as they claim to be–they best avail themselves of it as well.

I’ve read too many shampoo bottles in my lifetime to be subjected to that monotony in the comfort of my own home.

Therefore I say: may peace reign over the earth, and may every man, woman, and child read while taking a dump.

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