short story day

Sunday was short story day. Okay, it was also mother's day and I had a lovely one with my mother and sister, but before the drive to the country and the stroll around the iris gardens, I was mainlining short stories. The sun woke me up EARLY (really early for a sunday), and I read Steve Almond's The Evil B.B. Chow from start to finish without ever getting out of bed. (it was EARLY, I swear.) I got up, did some other stuff, and then picked up Elizabeth Crane's When the Messenger is Hot. I read the first story when I was recuperating last week and had put it down, probably to take a nap, and didn't pick it up again until yesterday. I was reading along and enjoying the sunny day/ good book combo (is there a better combination? I guess rainy day/good book is also pretty spectacular) until I came to a story where I had one of those lightning bolt moments of recognition... not just in an "oh, yeah. I've been there," chuckle ha ha way, but in an "oh my god, is THAT what I've been doing??" fog lifting moment of clarity way. I had to put it down and go do something else because I could not get it out of my head. It was disconcerting to read, but at the same time comforting. This is what I love about stories/books/movies/songs! They are like little wisps of spider silk that simultaneously transport to new horizons and connect back to the rest of humanity. Who knows how many other people felt the same jolt? I'm sure it wasn't just me.