Why you might not like this book: It's weird. It is strange and rambling and exudes a certain kind of earnest energy I can see rubbing some people the wrong way. It is part collection of essays and part memoir and part micro fiction all at once.

Why I loved this book: While reading this, I felt like I was having competing experiences: it was both surreal and heartbreakingly, achingly real. It was magical realism and non-fiction. It was at times so bright and hopeful and at times all of my saddest thoughts on paper. Slate has managed to capture her thoughts and emotions with a bit of magic and self-indulgence and commit them to paper. I saw one middling review call this book A LOT and it is! It is densely packed vulnerability, rapid fire thoughts and observations, and a certain taking up space that I admire. I've often made myself less, in a way Slate describes in this very book, to avoid that particularly review of my being. She's a lot. She's exhausting. Slate pours it all out unapologetically.

In a true measure of my feeling for a book, I already know I'll read this again. I ordered a physical copy so I can savor the words, highlight them and find my favorites. I've already demanded that my best friend read this. And even knowing this weird little book is likely to miss with a lot of people, I want to recommend it to everyone on the chance it will find another home like it found in me.