Okay, so I did get something good out of A Million Little Pieces, afterall. The last 50 or so pages are actually getting good. James Frey speaks about how we (we being alcoholics and addicts) are all born normal [perhaps genetically predispositioned to addiction, but I don’t know…] people. Then the disease strikes, and it’s not picky.
I was thinking about this in reference to when I see all of the homeless people under the bridges at the Lyndale/Hennepin/I-94 junction, and the various randoms that come by my office building and pick through the ash trays looking for unused cigarettes. I’ve never really thought about those people, other than to feel sorry for them, annoyed with them, avoiding them, etc. I get really bothered when they ask for money, because I feel like, no, I’ve earned this dollar, why should I give it to you? But after I read this, I thought, wow, maybe those hobos were once normal.
Now I feel really bad for them. It’s still hard to give them any money, because I can guess where it’s going to be spent. Anyhow, I’m at work now, and I’m grateful to be here.