Reading is deeply laborious for me: I say deep because I mean it's labor not of my skeleton but of my identity and soul. It demands that my selfhood climb. Reading stirs me. Maybe I am just one who is particularly sensitive to the bowl of myself. My body is mostly space and liquid in a hard case. And language is always a giant spoon. Its movement is always uncomfortable, maddening, and also thrilling--but I have to prepare for it. As if reading is an explosive lover. When I read I'm always thinking I shouldn't live in this house.