I did. And it was.

At least the current weather situation matches how the book made me feel. Warm, sunny, until deep black clouds overtook the mid-May day. Now rivulets fill the Panera parking lot and people scurry in here, as if the rain is saltwater and they'll melt like snails.

The book was basically a long suicide note by a "smart, beautiful, but very detached and isolated" girl named Stella.

What made me finish this novel in three or four hours was the character herself, her engaging voice through the entire story. Her upper middle class parents died almost simultaneously of crack/heroine overdoses. Stella had been out of the house for an hour, on a scavenger hunt for her birthday party.

Stella frequently reverted to flashbacks to tell her background and why she felt like her "living was done," why her ultimate peak came in fifth grade when she was so excited all she could do was kick her feet under her covers.

Raised by foster parents who chose not to have their own children because "there are so many children who need to be loved", Stella never felt like she belonged in the house. She frequently reported that the "mom" jumped when she came into the room.

I'm not intending to write a book report. I'm just trying to find out why the book affected me so much. I'm not suicidal and have never been. But I identified a lot with Stella, with feeling like an outsider.

She often wrote about how she could simply see into what was real. Keenly aware of her surroundings -- almost obsessively -- she got fed up with the facade that so many people live with. She simply decided to stop caring about things like finals and going to Princeton.

I guess I'm feeling that way because I'm seriously tired of being in the same place for so long, with the same people, doing the same thing. I hate it that I can see a person and also see their insecurities, see their quirks and how they act to be accepted. Or how they act so you know they don't care if you accept them or not.

A lot of the time since I've gotten married, I've wanted to just leave with my husband and not look back. I've wanted to exist in a world with just him and my family, because they're the only ones I feel truly comfortable around. This whole idea of my co-workers also being family is ridiculous. I'd much rather be vulnerable on an impersonal blog like this one than with people I see every day. A place where I can write what I want and almost no one who knows me reads it. No one can attach their perceptions of me to these words I write.

Last week was perfect -- my husband and I used a friend's timeshare up north. We had a cabin to ourselves for the week. It rained almost daily, so we had no reason to leave the fireplace. We slept in as late as we wanted. We didn't have any meetings to attend. I had hardly any internet access, so we worked on our books. It was perfect.

I guess my brain and emotions are still there...still wanting to be alone with him, away from the city.

I'm hiding in my parents' garage now...with my car...I heard heavy hail would hit "any minute." The problem is, they'll be home soon and I ditched the staff meeting this afternoon. Mom didn't call me, asking where I was. Maybe she took me seriously yesterday when I said I was taking this week off.

My husband's out of town for the week on business. It feels so weird without him. I'm supposed to go to some bachelorette cocktail party for a girl at work. I'm supposed to be pretty close with her and the other girls. I'm supposed to enjoy myself and try out some free cocktails.

But I really don't want to. I want to go somewhere and know no one. I miss those days in college when I could just go to a bar with a friend and we'd make five friends in one night. We'd do random things, like boating in the middle of the night. Or trespassing on a long-forgotten dock and watching the moon and stars gleam above the water. I miss the carefree days when I had an entire summer of nothing other than delivering pizza at night and taking a semester of Spanish in 4 weeks.

Yeah. I graduated two years ago and swore I'd never want to go back to school. Yet I don't think I have enough pennies to give one to myself everytime I said "I miss school" "I miss class" "I miss writing papers" "I miss stretching my brain for exams."

For a while, I decided to teach myself outside of the classroom. I decided I would take a class in modern Chinese fiction. I even took notes on the first 3/4 of the book of short stories I read. But I quit reading that book (never liked short stories) and gave up trying to find Chinese novels translated to English. Then, we were assigned a book on cross-cultural communication at work. I read about 3/4 of that one, too, and actually learned a lot.