Running with scissors

I am reading a glorious book. Sure enough, it is totally dysfunctional as they all are in order for me to adore them.
The brief story is that Augusten, a boy whose parents are not only dysfunctional but also utterly certifiable, is left to live with his mother's psychiatrist, who is also certifiable himself and utterly Freudian and everyone knows that Freud was crazy.
What totally overwhelms you is the way that every so often, there will be a short paragraph that is normal at first sight but will have a sentence that will add a touch of drama and humour in ways that you just don't expect and often to situations that are really complex and poignant.
And you will have to laugh.
But what this does, it makes you also see your life in ways that are totally different, see the dysfunctional bits and also see them as valuable and truly special and not just means to an end but an end in itself.
Also I often dream of having a son like Augusten or Oscar in Extremely loud and incredibly close, or like Max in Rushmore. I somehow feel that the journey with them would be an adventure and not just life
These are my favourite bits:

She placed the back of her hand against my cheek. "I'll visit you in my dreams. Did you know I can do that?"
"Do what?" I said hating her.
"I can travel in my dreams. Once I dreamt I went to Mexico. And when I woke up, there were pesos in my hand."
Her eyes scared me. They looked radioactive.


Neil pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit my cigarette.
"Thanks," I said. Smoking had become my favourite thing in the world to do. It was like having instant comfort, no matter where or when. No wonder my parents smoked, I thought. The part of me that used to polish my jewellery for hours and comb my hair until my scalp was deeply scratched was now lighting cigarettes every other minute and then carefully stomping them out. It turned out I had always been a smoker. I just hadn't had any cigarettes.

When I was sitting in school, surrounded by all those painfully normal, Cabbage Patch-owning kids, all I could think about was Bookman. Kissing him, touching him, hearing him say to me, "God, you're becoming my whole world."
How could I just sit there obediently pinning a butterfly's wings to a lab tray or memorizing prepositional phrases?
When the other boys in the locker room were showering and talking about their weekends playing soccer, what was I supposed to say? "Oh, I had a great time. My thirty-three-year-old boyfriend said he wished they could package my cum like ice cream so he could eat it all day."


I would recommend this book, the film is coming out next week and I can hardly wait.