You are what you read

Since my primary identity has been that 'house guest' for the last 2 weeks I've spent a lot of time reading. I finally read, on Beth's recommendation, A Tree Goes in Brooklyn and finished My Mother's Keeper. At Aunt Mary's I've read Augusten Burrough's Magical Thinking: a must read for everyone who appreciates clever and slightly dark humor; you'll laugh out loud; you might even pee yourself - just a little. Then, for some reason, I pulled A Child Called 'It' off her bookshelf. Not what you'd call an "upper." Of course, I had to read the sequel, The Lost Boy, and I'm going to start the final book in the series, A Man Named Dave, tonight.

Today I browsed through Barnes & Nobles - I love bookstores. I try to get my books used from places like half.com, or take things out of the library, but I love buying books. I never feel guilty about spending money on books, either. They're good for you, like vegetables.

I went into the store with the intent to buy Road Trip USA. I'm planning to drive from San Diego, CA, back to Boston, MA, and have been doing lots of research online but figure if I'm going to do the drive I might have to invest in a guide book. I thought this one looked like the best, but it was $30, and I had seen online it was only $19.99 at Target. I'd rather save my money for souvenirs. As I browsed through the store I suddenly found myself in the sex & relationships aisle, thinking it was ironic since neither are a part of my life at the moment. I actually picked up, physically held in my hand, a book entitled You Can Heal Your Life. How did I get here? Maybe I should read that book! Perhaps I'll borrow It's Called a Breakup because It's Broken from Ashley when I get to New York - I refuse to spend money on it.

I moved past the magazines and into the religion section - probably a first for me - briefly flipping through Buddhism for Dummies and thinking about advice I've received on just being before making my way back to the entrance. I was about to leave when the word "skank" popped out at me from a display. I picked up Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom and smiled, both wishing I had written it first and comforted by the fact that there are others like me out there. I don't need to react to anyone else, I just need to be me. Be very zen. Just be.

And never dress my niece like a prosta-tot.