it's funny you're talking about books. I did some reading this weekend as well. When you're depressed about your love life, there's one absolution: DON'T read books about other women who are depressed about their lives. It gives tou all new ideas on things to be depressed about that you wouldn't have thought of. That's not the kind of inspiration I need.
I like to think that I'm a progressive woman, keeping my mind and imagination alive and fresh by reading all sorts of books, novels, poetry, documentaries, even the occational book in Spanish. However, I'm making a vow to trash all novels that are pathetic love stories. Not the chessy everything-works-out books, no, the ones about depressed, lonely breakups in New York under smog, with best friends that live in apartments across from Central Park. Can someone write a book about something real? No one I know spends a "breakup" shopping spree in some shoe store in New Jersey to make themselves feel better...ok well Julia would. But other than that. I want to scream, "GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK" I hope to everything female these characters aren't based on real people. What about women with determination, with heart and balls? NO, it seems alot more simple than this. Grab some friends, a case of Miller Light, and great cd, and get out on the road. Almost all of life's problems can be cured that way, indeed, it's salve for the weary soul.
It seems as thought the solution to my character frustration is to just stop reading the books, right? That's like cutting someone off in conversation. Even if you're bored, it seems rude. And many great books I have started out boring. There's only one book in my immense collection that remains only half read. It's called "A Map of the World". It's a tan book, and no, it doesn't look like an atlas. It bugs me, having not finished it. It's like it catches my eye everytime I walk past the book shelf.
The book is about a child dying.


It's been one year to the day since I lost my little brother, since I had to put him in the ground, and I just can't bring myself to finish that book. So instead, my thoughts turn to other subjects that never seem to ease up. However, reading about a woman who is heartbroken while having my way with a can of rainbow chip cake icing seems to reinforce my optimistic belief in strong, real women, and that even they need cheesy books and sweat pants some days.
Here's to a life with no guys. No bodily functions at inoportune times, no "Dear Penis" song, no tv in bed, no baby talk to my breasts. Oh yes, I LOVE being single.