I just died in your arms tonight

So, apparently I am a Chronological Reader. I think it's funny to be described as slow and steady, since I have the attention span of a gnat.

Oh, Just When I Thought My Heart Was Finally Numb

My thoughts here are not super coherent, so I apologize in advance. I know I’ve talked about my reading rate before, but I think it’s important to note that it’s an average. My rate varies significantly from book to book, and the length of the book actually has surprisingly little to do with how long it takes me. The main factor, for me, is emotional engagement.

Most books I don’t really engage with emotionally, simply intellectually. These I can breeze through very quickly. It takes me much longer to process emotions, though, and if I let a book in it will take me longer.

The question then becomes, when do I engage emotionally? Sometimes it’s because I have a favorite character with whom I really connect, but that’s not always the case.

There’s another, more important factor. I tend to get the most emotionally involved in stories about the failure of love in some way. Essentially stories where, no matter how deep, genuine, unconditional, desperate the love, it simply is not enough, it cannot save, it cannot always even last.

This is actually longstanding. When I think about the stories that always bothered me as a child - that Winnie-the-Pooh with the bird, Snoopy Come Home, Milo and Otis (shut up) - really, they're about that failure of love. Not that the love fails or falters, but that it simply isn't enough. Similarly for the ones that really get to me now, God of Small Things, Beloved, Fugitive Pieces, Hallucinating Foucault, etc.

Of course, so often it isn't enough. In my line of work, we always say to focus on the good ones, to not let yourself get caught in the ones where you weren't enough, for whatever reason. But it's always those that haunt you.

I suppose it's bleak to say that we are profoundly inadequate, especially with regard to love, but I am sort of a bleak person.

This is looking like a contest/ Of who can act like they care less

Generally, I do not read the introductions, literary analysis, or commentaries that accompany some books. I don't have a great reason for skipping these, aside from time - I try to almost always be progressing with the project when possible.

I made an exception, though, for Mill on the Floss.Why did I do this? Well, mostly because I was stuck on an airplane and I had finished the book. And, the person in my seat before me had done the crossword and sudoku.

I actually really liked this one; spoiler alert, though! What an ending! That said, I didn't really have an issue with Stephen (I feel like I got that; maybe it's a time period difference), so I was surprised that was the issue of focus here.

Nevertheless, some interesting quotes to think about from the commentary/analysis (this was the Penguin Classics edition):

It is perhaps worth remarking that he is the literary descendant of other energetic, simple, sexually powerful men in novels who create quite complex problems for women whose alternative lovers are perhaps more sensitive but less alive, forceful, and exciting.

Minna's appear[s] to have overestimated the taste, talent, and ability of a handsome young man who was dedicating to her his whole time and attention, and whose homage rendered her the envy of almost all the young women.

If you want to know why I was on a plane, it was because I was going to a place where I got this done:

Though it is, I admit/ The tiniest bit/ Unlike I anticipated

Normally I try to avoid looking at the stats for this blog, since it sort of freaks me out to think people read this thing (I am strangely popular in Russia and Slovenia). I am particularly unsettled by the number of people who come to this blog via Facebook, since that means these are people who know me are viewing this thing (and yes, I realize I put it on Facebook and this is my own fault). Sometimes I think about making this thing password protected.

That said, I did recently view my statistics. After getting over my freakout about how many people read this blog, I noticed that many of you are specifically looking at this post. I think that's great; I'm really excited to have so many people see the inside of my fridge.

I remember tears streaming down your face

An interesting read. The author argues, as a counterargument to a few other recent articles, that women do not base their literary tastes on a desire to indulge fantasies about dating the leading male.

I must say that I really hope that she is correct. If not, I'm not sure why my taste in books says about what I look for in a relationship, but it is not pretty. Or healthy. Which. . .

Actually, we'll let that one go.

You make me want to be with the one I'm leaving

Ladies and gentlemen, we are failing at life at the moment. Seriously. The other day I was having a conversation with someone whom I had only very recently met, and in the span of about 30 minutes he managed to get out of me pretty much all the information that I shore up and parcel out slowly to people over the first four - six months of knowing me.

By the end of this conversation he knew:

• My job
• How I got involved in that
• Where I went to undergrad
• What I majored in
• Where I grew up
• All of my hobbies
• My volunteer activities
• My reading habits
• My general thoughts on graduate school
• The Truman program

We were starting on the dangerous topic of my cooking/baking/eating habits when we got mercifully interrupted.

I. . . I don't know how this happened.

You don't really like being hugged, do you?

No. Generally I do not. There are a few exceptions.

And I will lead them on a merry chase

I recently had this conversation with someone (at a studio, not a gym).

"Trollope. Wow. I haven't seen anyone reading Trollope since graduate school. Are you enjoying it?"
"I just started, but so far."
"Are you reading it for school?"
"Just fun."
"Wow."

Now, I could have, I suppose, explained the project. Many of my awkward conversations would be less awkward, perhaps, if I did so. I rarely do.

I know that I've said before that I use this project a lot in small talk, and I do. However, I only bring it up in two circumstances: 1) when it's gotten so awkward that I feel I have no choice, usually after several conversations on my reading habits, and 2) when it's either talk about the project or talk about something else in my life.

Basically, my goal at all times is more or less to conceal information about myself. Why? Well, I could tell you, but that would sort of defeat the goal.

I think you've made your point now/ You've even gone a bit too far to get the message home

Some literary quotes that sum up my current outlook on life:

“Who is ever adequate? We all create situations each other can't live up to, then break our hearts at them because they don't.”
 - Elizabeth Bowen

"Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?"
 - Clarice Lespector

“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”
- J. M. Barrie

"It's not safe out there." "Oh, and it's safe in here?"

It's true what they say: it never rains but it does pour. After a drought of awkward encounters, I'm piling them up again. Yay?

Recently I was waiting for a class in the studio, since there was no class in there before. I'm minding my own business reading my book, when one of the gym managers comes through giving a tour to a new or perspective gym member. Here was his spiel:

"This is our yoga studio; it's soundproof from the rest of the gym, and our yoga and pilates classes are in here. You're also always free to come in anytime there isn't a class to workout or, you know, read your book."

Sigh. I wanted to say in my defense that I was waiting for a class that was going to start in ten minutes; and yes, I could have been on a machine during that time, but I had done an hour workout at home beforehand and I just didn't feel like it. But I didn't actually say anything.

Want to see the inside of my fridge?

You’re passable. You’re passable. You’re passable, it’s true. Saw your face… …It’s okay. So I figured that you’ll do, til I find somebody new.

You may have noticed that I haven't written anything in the Awkward Encounters series, and you may be wondering why. It certainly isn't because I haven't been to the gym as much lately, because I have, and it definitely isn't because I'm any less awkward than before, because I definitely am not.

Why, then? I think it's because somehow lately it's become a bit more of a social outlet, so my ability to read at the gym has been a bit curtailed. I'm not sure how, exactly, but I'm failing at being a bento box.

That said, I finally had one! Random Gym Member 2 (RGM2) recently commented that I always seem to be reading a new book and asked how many I read a week. I explained that I read two per week, aiming for 100 a week. RGM2 then said, "Oh, wow. You should be on Jeopardy." I did not know what to say to that one; I mean, reading a lot of fiction is in no way preparation for that show. I just sort of paused for a moment and said, "Oh." Fortunately, it was then time for class.

How's this for a random picture?

I'm really into my fridge right now. At least, on the outside (so pretty); on the inside, I literally go between either having yogurt and a strange variety of water or a strange variety of water. Sometimes I think about grocery shopping.

It was difficult, later, to think of a time when Betsy and Tacy had not been friends

If I'm going to talk about childhood literary experiences that have shaped me, I must talk about the Betsy books by Maude Hart Lovelace.

Some of my earliest memories are of these books. I simply adored them. I was a hybrid Betsy and Tacy who wanted to be a Tib. Or at least have Tib's daring!

There is so much I love about these books - the portrayal of female friendship, the sister relationships especially as they grow up, her parents and their support of their daughters' dreams, the ambitions of the girls, everything about Betsy herself, etc.

As a child, I connected so deeply with these stories. Perhaps because they showed a world that was familiar to me, in that the girls had such rich imaginations and inner lives. I remember as a child creating fantastic worlds in which to live, and so I resonated with a childhood of mirror palaces and secret lanes. Deep Valley felt like home.

It took me awhile to come to the high school books. I couldn't bear for Tib to move away at first, and I wasn't ready for so much change; change can be hard for me. But when I was ready, these books were so perfect for me. I learned so much, and  I found so much comfort and inspiration in Betsy and her struggles and triumphs as she grew up.

I re-read them so often; I'm usually reading part of one of them at any given time, and I ritualistically re-read parts of Downtown before Christmas. I've worn through several copies. I always come back, or I guess never really leave; I am not the sort of person who generally describes books as friends, but the Betsy books are good friends.

Betsy and the Great World is probably my favorite, though it is a challenging one and there are parts I still find painful to read. I often think of this one quote, which I remember striking me when I read this as a young teenager: "Was life always like that? she wondered. A game of hide and seek in which you only occasionally found the person you wanted to be?"

I have come to think that part of growing up is realizing this, and I know I often find myself seeking for this version of self. In the meantime, whenever anyone asks me about my favorite literary heroine or character, I know I'll always answer: "Let me tell you about Betsy Ray."

She has the moronic beauty of youth, but she's sly.

In today's edition of lists, I present a list of random things that people have told me about my body:

• Your hair is like a lion's mane.
• You have remarkable hip-flexers.
• You have really large eyes.
• You have super small hands.
• You have tiny fingers.
• Your wrists are really small.

There is a bit of a pattern here, which explains my failed career as an oboist.

Someone recently told me that he thought I look like a gymnast, which is so way off it's funny. He did eventually amend that to a ballerina, which is still off, but maybe a bit better?

Made for labor, not for love

People often ask me if I use an eReader. The answer to date is no, and I usually say that I just prefer reading books the old fashioned way. The truth, I've come to realize, is a bit more complicated than that. There are definitely advantages for eReaders, of course, and though there are times when I'm sure I really would prefer a physical book, I can certainly think of many instances when I'd prefer the other.

Why, then, do I not have one? I think there are two many reasons: 1) Anxiety about buyer's remorse and 2) Hatred of buying electronics, likely due to my fear of electronics stores.

With regard to reason one, I think the root here is mostly shoes. I have terrible luck buying shoes. Some may also be due to a period in my most awkward teen years when I hated buy cloths generally. I've mostly gotten over that (shoes are my nemesis; I have weird feet), but I still worry about this. Would a Kindle or a Nook be better? Or should I buy an iPad (that would work as an eReader, right? I really know nothing on this topic).

Reason two is probably the main one, though. Seriously. I get anxious just thinking about electronics stores. Why, you may ask? Well, I think this actually goes back to my trouble with saying no - even when I really should - combined with an intense attempt at most electronics stores to up-sell me a warranty that I do not want.

I could, I suppose, work on this aspect of my personality, and I probably should. On the other hand, it's not gotten me into as much serious trouble as you might imagine, and it's led to some interesting experiences. Now, those include doing a backflip off a flying trapeze, eating mussels and getting rather ill, climbing a dam to run races in July in Arizona, and some other perhaps-not-so-good ideas, so this method for dealing with the world may not be right for everyone.