That book I'm reading over there takes the form of a letter written by a dying man to his young son. It's the things that the father hopes he would have told his son if he had lived, and it's depressing the hell out of me. It's a very good book, don't get me wrong. It was chosen as the "All Iowa City Reads..." book this last summer, and I'm just now getting around to it. I think it wouldn't be so hard to read if I wasn't in such a mood. Some of the things the father says hits a little too close to home. A little too close to the things I'm missing out on. Combine that with the dream I had the night before, and I cried myself to sleep last night. What is it about a good cry that makes you feel so much better? I don't look better, thanks to puffy cry eyes, but I feel better. The book still depresses me, but I think I'm still going to finish it.