Saturday, May 18, 2013


I just had to share with you a conversation that I recently had with my co-worker about books. Trust me, it is good.

Her: "You brought a book to work?"
Me: "Yes, because the past few days things have been slow and I really want to finish this book."
(There is a feeling of awkward silence and I put my book away)
Her: "You"
Me: Mouth just drops open in surprise.
Her: "I don't read books, magazines and newspapers only."
Me: Mouth still hanging open. I can feel my throat becoming dry.
Her: "I don't read books because then you actually have to concentrate and pay attention."
Me: Mouth still open in shock and maybe a bit or horror now.
Her: "I can't believe people read books."
Me: Mouth still open and feeling rather sad for her now. How depressing it must be not to know books can be fun.
Her: "I am much more of a singer myself. Why don't you sing? Why do you read books?"
Me: Knowing that there is just no use trying to share my thoughts with this person. She is so far gone, it is not even funny and there is just no saving her.
Her: "So that is what you do in your spare time, you read?"
(She sounds rather amused about that thought)
Me: "I write books as well."
Her: Her face is blank and devoid of any life at all.
(Even more awkward silence)
Her: "So what do you write?"
Me: "Paranormal Romance."
Her: Blank stare
Me: "Vampires, werewolves...things like that."
Her: "I don't like reading books. Anyway, why don't you sing? I sing. Singing is my life."
Me: "I write."
Her: Another blank stare
Me: Smiling in amusement, wondering what it must be like being so limited in one's thinking.

Not quite myself

I have no idea why, but I have not been feeling like myself. Even being in my own skin feels alien.  The good news is that I still managed t...