1. Your Kindle breaks and you don't care.
2. You start looking for excuses not to read....like cleaning the toilets.
3. As an alternative to romantic fiction, you turn to Great Expectations and think, "It's only 544 pages long. That's not too bad."
4. Your reviews have morphed from well-written essays to "quickies" to a couple of sentences, to "meh."
5. You would rather watch Sharktopus on SyFy than read a romance novel.
6. You finish a book and the best thing you can come up with is..."Well, I guess the boinking part was okay."
7. You find yourself muttering "...the Brothers, blah blah blah, who cares..." under your breath.
8. You're personally offended by grammatical errors.
9. You realize that your husband cleaning the house is way more romantic than a hunky Scottish laird wearing a kilt. No contest.
10. It's summer vacation!
I never thought it would happen, but I've finally "hit the wall" with my romance reading. This may or may not have something to do with the fact that I appear to be having a mid-life crisis. Yes, a "perfect storm" of events (turning 45 and having a near-fatal heart attack last August) have me questioning my purpose, my importance, my hobbies, everything. For some strange reason, I am totally wigging out about the upcoming anniversary of my heart attack (which is August 3).
It's easy to focus on the physical part of recovery. You eat the right foods. Do the exercise. Take your pills. But contemplating the whole "I-have-a-second-chance-for-life" thing is much more difficult and troubling. I am nervous about August 3rd. What have I done this past year since God/Fate/Destiny/A Random Occurrence decided I would live? Am I squandering my second chance? What is the best way to make it count? What is the best way to make myself happy? Fulfilled?
I have no freakin' clue.
If this was a movie with George Clooney and Marky-Mark, someone would probably take a break in the action (giant waves crashing down upon our little fishing vessel) and give me some super profound advice, about how small and insignificant I am compared to the great big ocean, yada yada, or something like that. But unfortunately, George and Marky-Mark are no where to be found.
I guess I have to figure this out for myself. That whole idiotic saying "Life Isn't A Dress Rehearsal" has taken on new meaning for me. Because it isn't a dress rehearsal. One of my on-line friends was talking about the NKOTBSB concert, and I thought "That sounds really fun. I wish I could go." And then I thought "Why can't I go? WTF?" and then I called my sister, who is the best, and she said "We're there. Break out your sequins." And we went. And it was ridiculously fun and excellent...and alive. I felt alive and joyful and celebratory. As I swayed with 20,000 other screaming women while Donnie Wahlberg ripped off his shirt.
I'm not gonna read about other people doing fun things anymore. Like going to concerts with aging boy bands. Or heading to Alaska for a vacation. Or kayaking with whales. Or going to glass-blowing camp in Vermont. I'm gonna do those things, too. Which may cutback on my reading and blogging time. And that's okay. I will definitely pop in from time to time. And hopefully get my reading mojo back. And fall in love with writing again. I have a delicious fictional bearded lumberjack who is clamoring for some attention.
So, I'm hanging this sign on my blog.....
Gone Fishin'
No, that's not quite right. How about this....
Temporary Hiatus Due To Mid-Life Crisis, Hopefully Resolved Soon By George Clooney, Or My Own Self-Discovery, Whichever Occurs First
You might not see me on Twitter or the boards for a couple of months. Hopefully I'll be on a life-affirming adventure.
I hope that all of you have a wonderful summer adventure, too, something that makes you happy to be alive. ☺☺☺☺
Pondering Profound Platitudes,
Penelope
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