about what's amazing

For a little while, I often found myself amazed—amazed by parts of the physical world around me, by developments in my life, by little moments, by lots of things. I know people have been using the word casually for years now, usually just to pay a compliment or to describe a fun experience, sapping the meaning out of it. But I think my dad's decline and passing and my getting older helped me appreciate more in life, and I was thinking how amazing some things really can be.

Like, I was taking the the subway regularly for work. The infrastructure of a public transit system is incredible. It amazes me. And I thought of how I rode the subway every day to and from work, but each time I rode, I felt like it took me farther and farther from home. This amazed me, too. And although I am often alone, I am amazed when I find myself alone in a given moment, living a life hundreds of miles from nothing, working in a big, complicated system of chaos, and starved. 

about "[sic]" by Joshua Cody

 
When he was about to receive his doctorate, doctors diagnosed noted young composer Joshua Cody with an aggressive cancer. The memoir-ish [sic] documents without form Cody's life and death struggle; hold the book in your hands, open to just about any page, and be treated to some trivia or personal revelation or philosophical reflection. This nonlinear form was well received by a lot of critics. Not all readers will agree.

I recognize the stakes were profound and, for that, a reader can indulge his author; but Cody really challenged my limits. I got bored and lost interest in Cody's scrapbook of a memoir. The value of this book, for me, anyway, is that, if you're not into "reading" lately, you can keep this book around for a week or so and poke around in it as you wait for sleep.

How can I write this about a memoir written by a dying man? I wait for sleep. Not everyone else does.