Five jet-fighters flying in precision just flew overhead and I burst into tears. Last weekend I walked into St Vincent gardens, a landscaped square with houses planted around its border, and I burst into tears. I keep telling myself don’t worry, it is menopause, and then my period comes. After watching the planes do their thing, I dried my tears and went to Readings Bookstore. A new book is to me what a new pair of shoes is to Imelda Marcos. I stood in front of the new release section and studied the carefully handwritten cards, critiquing each book. I picked up books and read a first sentence or a paragraph. I was taken by the title (always a good sign), and when I read the first page of ‘Things I don’t want to know’ I practically ran to the counter and chucked my money at the sales assistant. Deborah Levy tells me in the first paragraph that she bursts into tears when travelling up escalators. It was such piercing relief to read. It’s not that I think I’m unique, well actually. Don’t we all feel special, odd, out of step, and behind and ahead of everyone else? I already know I’m going to love this book. I relish the feeling of knowing there’s something extraordinary to come. First, I have to finish the book I am currently reading and enjoying immensely - a novel by Alice Robinson, Anchor Point. I used to think about writing a book, and now I’m working out my very own novel wedge. Honestly, I don’t think I can write that many words in one continual go (so to speak) but who knows. Self-doubt can be a way to not even try. Time to go read.
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