Maybe this book is not a masterpiece, but certainly it is worth a read or two even if you’re not really reading it and only looking at your hands…I really don’t think Miranda July would mind.

I went down to the basketball courts today. They were wet. I played anyway. I wasn’t very good. I kept missing the hoopnet. My roommate played against me. He made quite a few shots. I lost to him. I do not like to make excuses. I was just bad. There was nothing good about the way I played. One time I shot the ball at the hoopnet from less than five feet away and it didn’t touch anything before rolling out of bounds. It was probably one of my worst games this year. When my roommate scored the last basket I took the ball and threw it over the fence, into a playground. This was immature. I felt pretty stupid when I had to jump the fence and go pick it up. There was a girl babysitting a small little tumbler. The tumbler must not have been any older than a two-year old boy. I wonder what this babysitter thought when I picked up the ball. At the bare minimum, she must have worried for a second or two that I might try and pick up the tumbler and throw it over the roof of a nearby building. I didn’t. I picked up the ball and went home. When I got home I thought about reading a book. I don’t have any books, but I figured it might get my mind off my poor performance if I at least pretended to read a book. I went on the internet to find a book that I could pretend to read. I found one. It was called No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July. It was hard to pretend to read this book. I mostly just looked at my hands. After a couple of minutes I was bored with this book. I was dirty. I needed a shower. I decided to take a shower. I wondered if the book was waterproof. I took it to the bathroom. I turned on the water and stood in the tub pretending to read Miranda July’s book. It was tough to read the book though and get clean at the same time. I ended up dropping the book in the water. I thought maybe there could dolphins in the water that would eat the book, but then figured they’d eat my feet too. Dolphins aren’t sharks, but they would eat my feet too. When I got out of the shower I was wet. Then I picked up the book and thought, “This book reminds me of the artistry that the narrator from Lesley Arfin’s book Dear Diary creates eliciting empathy rather than groans.” I began to towel off and thought about combing my hair, but didn’t end up doing it.