She is not dead but sleeping...

I'm reading a book called Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach. (Don't judge me. It was on The New York Times' bestseller list. Which I didn't realize when I bought it, even though it says so at the top of the front cover. I randomly picked it up at the bookstore and thought, "Hm. This might be an interesting example of creative nonfiction.") It's surprisingly funny and definitely interesting.

I had a doctor appointment today to see about my head, which feels like it's stuffed full of heavy, soggy cotton that leaks out my nose and eyes. I wondered if taking Stiff with me to a medical appointment was just too macabre. I decided: No.

But then I saw my makeshift bookmark, one of those annoying perforated ads stuck in magazines. I always seem to have a few lounging around, waiting to be made useful as impromptu drink coasters, notepads, or bookmarks. This one just happened to be for The Sleep Number Bed.

Even more disturbing is what happened when I ran a search for the book's subtitle in The Times' book archives. The results page included an eBay ad for "Human Cadavers." Apparently you can get more than the image of the Virgin Mary on a piece of toast nowadays. (Not really. When I clicked on the link, eBay found 0 items matching my search.)