So, one of the things
Well, like everything I do, I had to go to the extreme. Not just simple little fiction books for me, oh no. I wanted to load up my read books list with lots of intellectual sounding things. Out of the Garden: A Woman's Reflections on the Bible or Women in Purple, which is about some of the Empresses of Constaintanople. Because it's all about impressing people who read my blog, right?
After reading on Jeanne-Marie's blog about how she's read about a million books so far this year, I said to myself "Screw it," walked into the used bookstore, and asked for something girly and light. (This is not to say that I think Jeanne's reading girly light stuff. I just gave up on the idea of trying to only read intellectual and clever sounding things. And I needed to start somewhere other than the collection of romance novels that I just can't seem to get rid of.) They pointed me at Bridget Jones' Diary.
Oh. My. God. What the hell is wrong with people?
I tried to read it. I really did. By the end of the first "month", I had resigned myself to something not that great, but at least it would be a good popcorn read, right? By the end of the third month I was muttering and ranting in my head about people sitting around and feeling sorry for themselves all day. By the end of the fourth month, I threw the book at the wall.
"Problem?" said my friend, curled up in his favorite chair, reading Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf.
"ARG!" I tend not to be very coherent at the beginning of a rant. "I just don't get it!"
Being terribly patient, he marked his page and put the book down. "What don't you get?"
"This whole turning 30 and not having a man is the end of the world thing! I mean, gah! What is the point? That... that... women only exist to breed or something? That if you're not in a relationship you're somehow incomplete? I don't get that idea at all. It makes no sense to me! 30 is about a year and a half away for me, and I'm not worried about not having a husband and a baby. I'm worried about turning 30 and still being in freaking CANADA!"
"You turn 30 in a year and 3 months, not a year and a half."
I gave him a dirty look. "You are missing the point. It seems that everywhere I look, women are getting advice on how to find a man, how to get married and settle down, and I don't get it. Why don't I want that? What the hell is wrong with me that every other woman (with a few notable exceptions) seems to want a man, and all I want is a plane ticket? Why don't I want kids? Why don't I care about these things at all? Am I just weird? Am I missing something important? Am I refusing to grow up? What the hell is wrong with me that I think this book is a load of crap, and yet both it and the sequel were hugely successful movies? What is everyone else getting that I'm not? I mean, this woman is so freaking neurotic."
"Are you actually worried you're not neurotic enough?"
"No, I'm actually worried that I have all the wrong neurosies."
He looked at me for a moment, picked up his book, and went back to reading.
But seriously, I am considering writing a book about an almost-30 something woman who is struggling to get out of the country without the burden of trying to take a man with her. Because I'd like to read that story, and I hadn't come up with anything for NaNoWriMo this year.
Related to the whole 43 things thing, I have been spending a lot more time with my friends. I saw four movies this month (well, three if you count that I saw Sin City twice). The most recent was Merchant of Venice. I'll just say that my companions found it a much better movie than I did. I think when 4 out of 5 people like a film, I'm probably just not the right person to see it with.
I also tried the third recipe in my book, which was corn muffins, and was greeted with many compliments. I think this whole bread-baking thing is turning out quite well. I'm just worried that the ovens in Scotland will only be in Celcius, and the entire book gives temperatures in Farenheit.
And I bought The Hundred Secret Senses by Amy Tan, which I have yet to get frustrated with, so maybe I will manage to actually read something a bit more respectable than Harry Potter fanfiction this week.
Or, you know, maybe not.