Denis Johnson - "Dirty Wedding"

This story knocked me flat this morning on the subway with these couple lines: "The last time I'd been in the Savoy, it had been in Omaha. I hadn't been anywhere near it in over a year, but I was just getting sicker. When I coughed I saw fireflies."

Six pages of story that travel as fast as the El train the narrator rides, but so rich with the experience about being a messed up kid who couldn't handle much of life, let alone getting his girlfriend pregnant and then not having the baby. If I hadn't finished, I would have missed my stop just so I could read the end.

My Mistress's Sparrow is Dead, Eugenides rich collection of love stories, made my day even before 9 AM. And I'm having a real hard time with this ridiculous hip hurting as much as it has over the past few days. The pain is angry, constant and frustrating. I hate limping, it makes me feel awkward, ungainly, and really unattractive; and it's not as if I need any more pushing in that direction anyway, being in this kind of pain just amplifies all of the things I hate about myself and all of the things that have happened to my body as a result of the disease. It's like the ache just settles into my whole being and forces its way into every little crack of my existence.

While I know that it's probably got something to do with my shoes and the weather, I refuse to give in to either. Bitter cold and high heels, who knew they'd be the death of me?