I finished reading a book titled “Skippy Dies” yesterday. The book is about a boy named Skippy who studies in a catholic school in Ireland, his fat-geek-friend Rupert who does experiments on m-theory among other things, a history teacher named Howard, the girl Skippy falls in love with named Lorelai, and the stories of many other people who aren’t connected except through each other. And yes, Skippy dies. He dies in the first three pages. I want to tell you more about this book but I can’t find the words right now and I’m cutting it awfully close to my midnight deadline for this post so I’m going to leave you with a beautiful quote from the book and the hope that I’ll come back and edit this post later.

“Maybe instead of strings it’s stories things are made of, an infinite number of tiny vibrating stories; once upon a time they all were part of one big giant superstory, except it got broken up into a jillion different pieces, that’s why no story on its own makes any sense, and so what you have to do in a life is try and weave it back together, my story into your story, our stories into all the other people’s we know, until you’ve got something that to God or whoever might look like a letter, or even a whole word…”