A Thousand Plateaus

reading Eat, Pray, Love.  Gorgeous book.  A little too full of details.  And I keep hearing the nagging voice, where did you go?  Where was the person that had to write to save her life, much like Ms. Gilbert.

I keep thinking about that book - he’s just not that into you.  I’ve never read or actually opened the book.  But I get the premise.  If a guy likes you, he’ll make time for you.  If he can’t find time to call in a week because he is too busy - he’s just not that into you.

Maybe that’s me and writing.  I keep saying I don’t have time, but I have time to watch the NBA playoffs, read books, and flip channels on the television until I run into, wait for it, a NEW New Kids on the Block album.  (Just an aside, I had to find out how old they are and why they are dancing with 20 year old girls in bikinis.  They are fast approaching 40.  It has been 20 years since they rocked the world of teenage girls everyone.  Except this one.)  So I have the time.  I have time to write emails and play scrabble with my friends.  Maybe I’m just not that in to writing anymore.  Maybe I’m just out of words for this point in my life.

I kept dreaming I was taking pregnancy test after pregnancy test last night.  Now the cigar is rarely the cigar, so maybe I’m getting ready to write again.

And then I’m back to he’s just not that into you.  Because the more I search for the writer in me, the faster it runs away from me.  It’s that unrequited love that keeps me coming back … maybe.