Illogically Irate

My period must be coming up. I got really roaring mad at the dishes this morning. I told them that if they don't stop being grossly uncooperative, I'm going to leave them to rot in the sink until New Year or until I get into a good mood.

Which of course I didn't do. I got more annoyed when the chicken I was cooking cooked so slow. And when I couldn't find my bag of candy loot. And when I barely understand Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities. As for that, it's either I'm just getting dumber as Christmas break progresses OR I just don't yet have the literary depth to grasp the fucking book.

I'm betting on the latter. This 'literary depth' thingummy first came into my consciousness after I reread a book (Beggar's Ride by Nancy Kress) I first came across when I was in Fifth Grade. It was an elaborate sci-fi novel with a kiss-kiss bang-bang plot and I appreciated it for not much else than that. Exciting, but it was not intellectually stimulating simply because I did not yet have the intellect to be stimulated.

I read the book occasionally in the later years, but I only appreciated it intellectually after my Philosophy I course from last year. There. Literary depth. I'm explaining my concept of it poorly. So let me try again.

A wide reader usually has a big vocabulary. A wider reader has an almost perfect grasp of the figures of speech and idiomatic expressions, along with their permutations. A wider wider reader knows the dirtiest slang available in the literary world. A wider wider wider reader knows philosophy.

I think, The Bonfire of the Vanities is as yet beyond me. Some of the figures of speech, the idiomatic expressions and the slang---beyond me. I'm writing this post so that one day, when I reread it, I may be able to fully grasp the impact of my ignorance.