Life is like a box of books

While waiting for the 1 train (my new BFF) tonight, I saw a rat scurrying along the tracks and felt a little bit superior because I was atop the platform and he was so below me, scrounging for leftover Big Mac scraps from the weekend drunks. Please! But that reign quickly combusted when I felt shivers shoot up my spine and the arrival of my BFF polished off the tremble with a big gust of swoop! Sick.

And then on my walk home from the L train (my frenemy), I saw another rat disappear into the bushes and was struck by the implication of this sighting: it may go into the unknown and turn up next to me tonight.

All the inroads I made in recovering from the mouse's appearance have been wiped out. My feet are off the ground, against my chest as I write this and we are back to square one. Goal is to have one foot on the ground without chickening out by end of the week. Baby steps.

Oh, must remove Ratatouille from Netflix queue.
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The bookcase in my room is layered with sundry books my roommate and I have bought over the past couple years. I have read about 40% of the books. Actually, let's make that 45% because I'd rather not count the "How to make people like you" series as part of the population. Jenn got those for free from a lame employer who thinks reading these books can really make you like me! Besides the fact that the title is manipulative and presumptuous, life would be so drab if we went around liking each other 24/7. Maybe we'd have world peace but I think people would be so bored to tears that they'd be compelled to create more drama, then violence, then world destruction. Back to square one, like me tonight. In any case, perhaps we'll use them as big azz margarita coasters one day if they are lucky.

My share of the books came from impulsive binges at B&N. You know like in the movies where the character must transform into Einstein overnight to pass a test so he goes to a mega bookstore and stocks up on so many books that he has trouble carrying them home, let alone peering over the teetering stack? How about paying for them? Books are very expensive at retail prices, especially without a 30% off sticker and a membership card. I now conduct these binges on amazon.com but I must like the torture of heavier prices and physical pain of lifting literary weights because the satisfaction just isn't the same.

Anyway, most of these poor books just become models on my bookshelves because all they do is stand there, exposing their spines and jacket covers throughout the years. Very rarely are they engaged to share their content and ideas. I tend to demonstrate this proclivity with clothes, buffets and groceries too. There are dresses I bought two years ago with tags still intact, pounds of food thrown away (hopefully) that were initially piled on from an over-ambitious appetite, and even more pounds of perfectly good food gone bad after a trip to Gristedes prodded by a particularly inspiring episode of 30 Minute Meals with evil Rachael Ray.

The point of these words is that every time I do dip into this stash, there are so many pleasant surprises in store! Barrel Fever had me giggling on the aforementioned 1 train tonight, so much so that the cat next to me probably keeled over from curiosity. So delightful that it erased the rodent shiver. Made me want to grab the man next to me by the cheeks and squeal like a mouse. My bookcase is my life's box of chocolates.