Self-Help

I was having one of those bittersweet moments you have in life when you feel utterly to yourself or as society deems it--lonely. But I don't have a problem with that because whenever I am faced with this situation, it makes me more motivated to do something productive. So I decided to go the the bookstore.

There I was surrounded by literature. A woman in the cafe was playing her guitar and singing for Friday night's entertainment. Her name was something or the other. Nothing I heard was too great to warrant me meandering around her stage trying to find out her name. I wondered if the other people at the cafe were bothered by her high pitches and uneven tones as they sat behind their wide screened laptops and amped their ipods on the highest volume setting.

I grabbed five books in no particular order including Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, Lorrie Moore's Self-Help, and a writer's guide for how to write. How ironic. There were no more seats at the cafe and there were no more plush chairs in the reading area so I was resigned to sit at the small wooden stools of the children's section. People don't bring their kids to bookstores anymore so the area was deserted which made things even better for me.

I opened up the Self-Help book and read the first short story which was entitled, "How to be the Other Woman." And I thought to myself, would that situation ever happen to me. Would a married man try to approach me? I talked to my friend about it and she laughed. "Hon, you're too sweet to be the other woman. You're the woman that gets cheated on."

I made a note to not talk to that friend for a while.

I was getting along quite well when a woman sits across from me in another one of the small wooden stools for children. We exchanged polite smiles because that's what polite strangers do. My mind eased in the thought of another person, a brethren, also looking for a place in this environment to rest their laurels and happened upon this sanctuary. I'm not the only one thinking out of the cake box!

But then, that girl, that deviant, that hussy began incessantly text messaging her friend, her mother, her mistress, her pimp, whoever. Each number punch resounded witha loud beep and after she clamped her phone closed it would resound with a twinkle twinkle melody indicating a reply message. This went on for about ten minutes before she picked up her phone and dialed.

"Hiyou'rehome?Imissyou.NoImatthebookstore.Nojusthangingout.Mystomachstillhurts.Whatsthattea thatyou reccomended.Green?Jasmine?..."

How rude. Why would you sit next to a person who obviously is reading and needs a bubble of silence around them and start being a cell phone whore?

I got up immediatly and decided to go see a movie.

The movie was based on a book I had read previously called Shopgirl (the movie is of the same title). It was about a girl and her struggles with life and her love triangle. It didn't really capture the depth of the characters like the book did but that's why books are books and movies are movies.

I still had a good cry because there were moments when it just hits you. It's right there in front of you and you're like yea yea, I know that feeling. But you realize that doesn't really matter. Movies are movies and reality is reality. It's just nice to be reminded sometimes, to have your insides jarred before you let them settle down again.