Day Thirtyeight

I finished reading The Time Traveler's Wife.

I've been quietly complaining throughout, forcing myself to persevere even when I was bored and threatening the book that it better give me a satisfactory ending for what it was putting me through.

I was plowing through it at during lunch on Tuesday when Harriet walked into the back room and saw the cover.

"Oh, you're reading that!" She said. "I've started on it."

"Do you like it?" I asked.

"I gave up after a hundred pages or so. I got bored."

"I'm bored too." But I keep reading for the sake of getting $26 worth of literature into me.

I was sitting in bed reading about the day Henry died. I think of Clare meeting him during one of his time travels when she was six. I think of their wedding. I think of Clare's miscarriages. I think of Alba, who Clare finally has after being knocked-up by Henry from the future. I think of the two of them sitting on the porch on NYE when he died. I think of Jez, and then I'm crying. What's the point of loving someone for all of your life if it only leads to them destroying you by leaving? Maybe that's why Jez is so adamant about dying before I do.