I can't believe I haven't been here. I've been busy. With what, I don't know. OH I know, it's been reading fiction, my new salvation to keep me off cigs. I think it was Andrea who said she always had a book in her purse. Well, that's me. I walked laps in the pool a couple of days ago reading as I went. Put it down on the side and actually made it a couple of laps swimming (it's an olympic-size pool; gimme some credit). Picked it up again. Read it at my sister's. Read it waiting for Jenna at gym. Panic set in when I forgot it on the kitchen table, realizing the error only after I splashed into the pool on Friday.
The obsessive fiction run reminds me of house shopping. I now have several characters from several different books and several plots merging into a twisted and confusing mega story of my own. I toss authors and titles out the window preferring to spend my non-reading time trying to remember which murderer was it who used the toy cat in the ally and was it the guy detective or girl detective who grew up without a father. Then I give up trying to sort out which book was which and let the stories re-tell themselves all mingled in my imagination.
I guess there is life after smoking. Even though I've traded one "must have" for another. I've managed, so far, to make it not food, which is good, because I've been punished with that enough.
SO, I'm okay, but reading, and thinking about reading and writing and the stories we tell here and why they're not enough for me and how I used to read blogs with the same appetite as I have for a good novel now, but that you don't find people's stories on blogs the way you used to, and so I have to spend $6.95 at CVS to be sure I'm not without my fix.
okay, more later...
