Let me just start by saying a big Blunt Thank You to those of you who faithfully read this blog. I started blogging when I lost my job and needed something to distract me from accidentally running into oncoming traffic realized that I wanted to write books based on my life experiences, except I couldn’t remember half of them. Yes, it could be partly because I didn’t want to. It’s also partly because over the years, I have acquired piles upon piles of journals. Unfortunately, they’re all empty. You know how I tend to be a bit lazy/non-committal? Well, after a couple pages, I’d get frustrated with either my handwriting… or the confining pressure induced by myself to produce regular entries… or the weather…. thus, one by one, I’d lay them to rest in the dusty journal graveyard. But I enjoy looking at them very much. Whenever I’m under my bed.
Speaking of things I collect, I may have mentioned it briefly in the masterpiece entitled How To Live The Best Fake Life You Can Imagine, or several times thereafter, that I collect books. I don’t read them, as much as I like to give the impression that I do, while underhandedly using them strictly for decorating props. I understand this is a perplexing and tricky dichotomy considering I’m a writer. But you know how “Those who can’t do, teach?” Well, I also find that ”Those who can’t write, read.” You’re welcome to leave me nasty comments in regards to that theory, but wouldn’t you rather go eat a Dilly Bar or something? Go with the cherry. You’ll thank me.
But seriously, the books are starting to take over my life.
So when I’m selecting books, my focus is on the thickness and color of the cover and how well it will coordinate with the lamp, random flea market suitcase, or bookshelf that it will be sitting on or in the proximity of. I don’t pay attention to minor details like the title or the content. I had an epiphany recently that I should start trying to solve all my problems by dissecting different sections of my house and seeing what they reveal about me. [Go here to see what my freezer had to say. It was shocking, to say the least.] So, we’re moving on to my books.
It’s only fitting that we start with my desk area. It’s where I am sitting right now, talking to you. It is also where I spend almost all of my meager existence being a hermit, writing and editing with bloodshot eyes, and listening to Playing for Change’s Stand By Me compilation on repeat while eating very questionable leftovers. Of course, today, it’s been The Verve’s Bittersweet Symphony. Because I can. Please keep in mind that I have four additional 6 ft. cubby bookshelves like this one, which are FULL of books. But we’ll tackle that later, Champ.
Let’s zoom in on the middle cubby. I’ve added the books from the top shelf as well cus I’m all about efficiency. Duh. So when I actually started reading the titles, I discovered that these books must have been stalking me during the past couple of years.
1. Places to Stay the Night. This eerily, but accurately describes my life from the time span of 2002-2006. If I could make one minor adjustment it would be “Random Places To Stay The Night While Escaping Your Heroin-Addict British Boyfriend, Overly-Possessive Bi-Polar Italian Boyfriend, Or When You Decide To Run Away To Mexico Or When You’re Wandering Around A European City And Refuse To Leave Your Wasted Roommate With Those Inappropriate German Guys.”
2. The Ideal Bride. Oh yes. I couldn’t think of a better way to describe myself. On opposite day.
3. To Love Again. And again… and again… and effing again.
4. Five Days In Paris. Please change to “Five Days In Paris Accompanied By: A Hailstorm, A Robbery, The Stomach Flu, Ungodly Frizzy Hair, World’s Meanest People, Mystery Meats Cooked In Too Much Butter, And An Unwanted Proposal.”
5. Ten Poems To Set You Free. UGH. Information that would have been useful to me yesterday!
6. Forbidden Area. Much like a fine art painting or Greek Opera, I’m leaving this one open to interpretation.
Along more serious lines, I actually read [and write] poetry. Not the weird rhyming kind, but the cool, sarcastic kind. Dorothy Parker [ my idol and love of my life ] and Frieda Hughes, [ whose life might be weirder than mine, and who has a way with words that I never will ].
So, Mr. Condescending, I may not have gotten to everything on the list, but are you happy now that you know what’s on my shelf?
It matters not if you read the actual book. Who does that? And why would I want to when you’re telling a very visual story, all your own. Either that or your house is stalking me. 
Guess I’m doing too much writing in my blog…lol. I’ve always been an avid reader though, spending upwards of 12 hours sometimes even 20 in any given day reading! And yep, when I wasn’t reading, I’d be writing something! So what does that say about your “those who read can’t write”!?! jk, I’ve never had anything published, nor do I have any interest in being a paid writer…lol.
August 6th, 2009 → 1:31 pm
[...] my shelf so people can still think of me as someone who appreciates old movies. I’ll set it right next to my antique copy of War & Peace that I’m not even going to pretend that I’ve ever cracked open, which looks great right [...]
August 11th, 2009 → 2:26 am
[...] I was trying desperately to analyze my life by using the titles of random books found around my house, I received a large number of comments on the color of my walls. I even received some desperate [...]