I have this thing about books. I have to finish them. Even if I hate them. I trap myself in books. I love books, but in the last year I've managed to end up in a few situations where I was deliberately turning reading into work.

I don't know where that obsession comes from. It definitely is an obsession, since the idea of not finishing a book gives me the same sense as believing I have left the garage door open or a curling iron plugged in.

And yet, in the last six months, I've deliberately not finished at least four books. Here goes -

The Life and Opinions Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne
Why I started reading the book:
I only started reading it so I could see the movie. Which is ridiculous. More often than not, I would actually much rather see the movie first and then read the book. Crazy, I know. But I find that movies don't actually influence my experience that deeply. And I have a hard time remembering plot (seriously) if more than a week goes by after I've read a book (seriously) so I spend most of the movie going "Wait. Do I remember what happens?"
Why I stopped reading the book:
Samuel Johnnson's review: "Nothing odd will do long." Tedious.
Why I tell myself it's okay:
I'll read it someday, right?

Iris Murdoch: A Life - The Authorized Biography by Peter Conradi
Why I started reading it:
It's possible Iris Murdoch is my favorite writer. I read one of her books - and only one - every year. It's a special thing.
Why I stopped reading it:
I think sometimes biographers forget they are also writing books. And spending 100+ pages addressing the geneology and the god-awful boring family history of an interesting person really isn't fair, no matter how long it took you to come up with that information or how much the subject told you that's what is really important. Congratulations you know how to use archives. Nobody needs to know that shit.
Why I tell myself it's okay:
The book also kept giving away plot points for Murdoch's novels. Also, authorized is, like, the death knell for a biography.

Oh man. I just got sassy.

The Formation of a Persecuting Society: Power and Deviance in Western Europe by R. I. Moore
Why I started:
I basically read this book through excerpts in college. Also, I have kind of a thing for R. I. Moore. That guy just doesn't care what rabbles he rouses.
Why I stopped:
Um, I basically read this book through excerpts in college. Some medieval history books are just better read that way. The garage door stays open.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon
Why I started:
I liked The Final Solution. And all you people everywhere keep talking about this book.
Why I stopped:
Well. It's complicated. Controversy time - I wasn't loving this book, you guys.
It is very realistically possible that my lack of love for narrative in improv might be born from a lack of love for long narrative in all storytelling. (Note: It also might be possible that by the time that revelation gets read by a certain someone, I will be single again.) Gah. But more importantly, my living situation called for the sudden and dramatic throwing away of much of my material possessions and this book might have accidentally been tossed out in the purge. Accidentally. I swear.
Why I tell myself it's okay:
Because, like, I don't have the book anymore.

I'm also still stuck on the Book of Genesis, Chapter One of some American Government book that I started looking at one night and, like, book one of the Iliad.

This whole entry feels incredibly indulgent. Oh well.

Danger

Today I almost got run over by a Haz-mat emergency truck.

I didn't even realize they had emergency trucks.

Apparently they do, and one zipped passed the intersection of Lafayette and Great Jones as I was coming out of work. I shouldn't say zipped. I should say was moving pretty quickly but I was listening to "My Life" by Billy Joel and that made me feel bold so I ran for it.

Things I had learned about myself in the thirty second period on either end of the near-miss:

If I were stuck on a desert island and I could only listen to one artist and I was assigned that artist and it was Billy Joel, I would be cool with that. You're probably wondering why I was assigned an artist and I didn't pick one. Well, the thing is, see, that I was in the Office of Desert Islands for about forty-five minutes going through their collection when I realized they should just pick for me and I'd be fine with whatever. I usually am.

If I wasn't already going to title my autobiography Sorry...So sorry...Sorry I'm Here (per Robber Baron), I would probably call it Fine with Whatever.

Ow.

Anyway, the other thing I learned as the truck drove past was that I absolutely do not question the status of that emergency. Sometimes a police car or even a firetruck will speed by and you'll think "might not be a big deal." I feel like there are no small hazard material leaks. Right?

Which reminds me of Alex Mack. Which I never really watched growing up, but reference frequently.

What's Larissa Oleynik doing?

I was cleaning up some of the drafts I never published/finished on this blog.

On 4/17 I wrote an entry that started with "Last night I was struck full in the face but" and then there's nothing.

I have no idea what I was talking about.

Dear men in my neighborhood,

I'm wearing pants. Stop looking at me like I'm not wearing pants. These are cropped leggings and they happen to fall under the Active Wear category on the Old Navy website. That means I can wear them when I go downstairs to pretend-to-buy-a-water-bottle-but-really-just-get-the-guy-behind-the-counter-to-give-me-quarters-for-laundry.

Just because I'm wearing pants-that-don't-look-like-pants doesn't mean I'm failing in other aspects of my life. You don't know that I slept until 11am and then took a nap at 2pm. You don't know that it took me forever to put on these basically-pants in the first place. You don't know that there's a soggy bowl of cereal on my dresser that I won't take to the sink because the Life squares have started to form some sort of terrifying configuration and I just don't want to deal with it. You don't know that I spent my day crying at the TV or that I took a shower and then put this same outfit back on because I like it.

What you should notice is that I've started a new haircare regimen and my curls look spectacular. You should also notice the beginning of my new spring/summer tradition of getting regular manicures. Also observe my choice of bright red nail polish which subtly suggests that I might be a bad-girl in a classy, World War II kind of way. Get with it.

Sincerely,
Nicole

Two personal truths that I've had reaffirmed in the last 24 hours:

I do not like prosciutto.

Men wearing vests - especially with a nice shirt and a tie - make me a little weak in the knees.

Dru misunderstood something I said over gchat today and took it as an opportunity to remind me what a disaster he thinks we'd be as a couple. I exhibit masochistic tendencies, so I asked Dru why that was exactly. He provided a pitch perfect analysis of our inevitable breakup, grounded in a complex understanding of our personalities. But mostly it amounted to, Nicole has unrealistic expectations about relationships. Under the circumstances, I took it really rather well. And then this text chain began.

Dru: You hate me so much right now.

Me: Absolutely not even a little not even at all.

Me: But if we're both single at 39 we can cohabitate, right? Different rooms and weekly sleepovers?

Dru: No. By then I'll have taken up my banjo playing and will leave with my three cats named Pain, Suffering and Sir Ben Kingsley.

Me: Dammit.

Me: 38?

Dru: That's when I rescue Sir Ben Kingsley from the shelter.

Me: 37?

Du: I'll he having an affair with the actual Sir Ben Kinglsey. Thus why I name my cat as such.

Me: Then what are you doing Thursday?

Dru: Avoiding you at all possible costs.

Things that are true:

I need a new travel toothbrush. I absolutely, willfully left my apartment without brushing my teeth this morning. I did make it to a production meeting on time though (and found gum) so the sacrifice wasn't a complete failure.

I love coupons.

I filled out one of those ... bracket things ... but never submitted it to our General Management Assistant for eligibility in the office pool. And all but one of my randomly chosen brackets have been correct.

I dropped a tiny cookie on the floor next to my desk and now I can't find it.

No one in New York is selling chocolate chip muffins anymore.

I've never watched Felicity, but I'm pretty sure I'd like it and think I will be adding it to my queue. I have a special affection for those "single woman in the city" shows. It might be the voice-overs. Yes. I identify with women and their voice-overs.

For example, last night I was walking up to Union Square to meet Dom and thinking, I wonder if there's a word to describe the feeling you have when you remember a memory that should make you happy but then it makes you sad because it's a memory and not a present-tense experience. And then I thought, I bet the French have a word for it. And then I thought, wow - my life is just like a TV show sometimes.

And then I hated myself. But just a little.