Why do I love sad books so much.

I am going to call it the Taco effect. Which is to say, I am imbued with a hormonal capacity to sit on a couch on a rainy Saturday with my clean laundry still unpacked in it's bags, no groceries purchased and no thesis defense notes written, devouring The Time Traveler's Wife in four hours, and weeping about every 100 pages. That's a Saturday well spent. If you asked me I would say I *enjoyed* my rainy Saturday.

Once a month I'm an emotional masochist. That's the only explanation I can come up with.