Saturday, March 7, 2015

Can I Just Quit My Job And Read All The Time? Please?

I'm standing in Barnes and Noble with a $50 gift card and a basketful of difficult decisions. Not all of us are going to make it out of here alive and I am beginning to think that I'm less likely to survive than the battered copy of the latest Barbara Kingsolver I keep vacillating about.

The one easy decision is How to Be a Heroine: Or, what I've learnedfrom reading too much. At 20% off it is roughly the same price I'd find on Amazon and well I mean, it just kind of feels like it was written FOR me.

I put FlightBehavior back on the shelf, which should give me a sense of relief but somehow only serves to make the next decision weigh more heavily on my soul. Shit's about to get real.

A $6.95 hardcover of Zadie Smith's NW is in my basket, and I decide will remain in my basket, because I want it on my bookshelf next to On Beauty (which was also a bargain shelf must buy because Zadie Smith novels are supposed to be on my bookshelf; I was an English major.) I still haven't read On Beauty but apparently that isn't enough to dissuade me in my quest of deluding myself about my literary prowess.

I am now holding an apocalyptic YA novel because that is what 30-something women actually read these days. The fact that I am more drawn to this novel than the made for grown-ups, literary fiction I was just contemplating feels a little wrong for a little while but then I read the first two pages of Grasshopper Jungle and good, honest writing is good honest writing, I don't care what demographic it's written to. I put it back though, telling myself I'll use some of the Amazon rewards points I have been hoarding like a crazy coupon lady to buy it when I'm done with the book I'm currently reading.

This month's issue of BUST also makes the cut because I haven't splurged on a magazine in a while and, like the tall black boots I am wearing that give me a thrill because they are tall and black and I can successfully zipper them over my calves, it makes me feel cooler than I actually am.

Exhausted and on the verge of a panic attack I head to the register before I can change my mind. Again.