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I finished Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five today. Finally! I’ve been working on finishing this one for at least a month. It got to the point where I realized there was not going to be the typical buildup>climax>anticlimax. It was just going to drone on in front of my eyes for another 100 pages. I can’t just stop in the middle of a book though. I have a need to keep pushing through to the other side, no matter how painful or drudgerous. (is that a word?) So, I did make it to the end of the book, and it never got any more interesting than white toast with no butter. I began to resent the book itself, because I have so many others that I want to read, but couldn’t start until I finished this one. Then I felt bad for resenting a book. I really should have felt resentment towards Kurt for wasting my time. Hopefully, the next Vonnegut book I read will be better. I hear Mother Night is pretty good.