I'm in love! (Deja vu all over again...)

By page six, I knew this was it... true love. I love that the main character (or, co-main character?) Cornelia loves babies. I also love that she isn't ready to have one of her own because of her conviction that, "before a person dropped a new life into this world, she should probably get a real one herself." That made me smile. (I love to smile!)

I love that she loves vocal jazz (partially 'cuz I grew up listening to Sarah and Ella... we knew those Esteemed Ladies by their first names, in our house). I love that she loves old movies. And that we're instructed to stop reading the text in order to immediately begin viewing The Philadelphia Story. (Hepburn was also a major fixture of my childhood... but, even if a person doesn't actually love old movies--isn't it hard not to love the IDEA of old movies?)
And I love that Cornelia has a "half-assed" job but wants a "full-fledged" one. (I'd be content with a three-quarters-assed job, myself.)

Perhaps most of all, I love that this story made me truly see and smell and smile at this world. I loved experiencing all that so much, that it reminded me of why I read! To re-fall in love with this world, our world of enchanting particulars--the light in the cafe, the dimple on the chin. The baby that smells like newly baked bread (that bit reminded me of your writing, Rachel). It just makes me ecstatic to become immersed in a new book that seems promising. New, enchanting particulars, and new people to fall in love with and try to understand, from the inside out.

Sometimes I wonder if, in real life, when I really like someone, it's partly/mainly/totally because they so remind me of someone I've read about in a book.

I confess--as a lover, (of books, people), I'm not discriminating. I could never be a critic, because critiquing a text I love (as opposed to one that sadly disappoints, like, the Popularity book) feels so heartless to me. I say that because, I even love that she starts out the story with a cliche--falling in love with a tall, mature stranger. I know it's corny, but I just love love. I don't even want to judge anything about this story. I've read better, I've read worse--so what? I just want to embrace.

I'm expressing myself exuberantly--I'm an exuberant person, a lot of the time--but I'm not trying to say this is like, my favorite book of all time. This ecstatic infatuated feeling is often how I feel when I read. It's why I'm such a book addict! And, today, while reading, I just kept feeling vaguely vulnerable--because of being in this B.A. Book Club we're doing, and knowing you guys were going to be reading about Cornelia, too--I felt like I was in the process of taking my new girlfriend home to meet my family. And hoping they liked her. (Even though--I'm not gay, so, I don't know what taking a new girlfriend home to meet the folks is actually like--and, it would be maximally draining on any family to actually introduce them to all my loves... Even I can't keep up with them. I'm always forgetting the plots and assorted central details of books I've read... Once, I brought home from the library a sci fi book I was uber excited to read. And Paul told me, when I told him how much I was looking forward to starting it, that I'd already read it. Twice. And that we owned it. I think my brain and heart just can't keep track of all my romances. And, being so forgetful has marvelous side effects--I can read a book for the second time, knowing for sure that I'll enjoy it magnificently, but still be surprised! I recently re-read a murder mystery and even forgot, until three quarters of the way through, Who Dunnit!)

I'm babbling, now, not only because I'm interested in my own opinions, but because I'm a wee bit nervous. I've never shared a new love with anyone but Paul, in a long, long time. (I don't mean that quite the way it sounded.)

By the way... I also love that Cornelia tells of a man entering a room wearing "what could only be described as a blouse." I like reading mildly clever things that I didn't have to think up myself. I like feeling like I'm interacting with people without having to actually wash my hair and leave the house. I think I'm a glutton for experience. I want to consume experiences--mine, other people's, as many as possible--because life is so short, and, it takes forever to wash and dry my hair. And being around actual people means feeling put on the spot so much of the time--I seem to say vaguely stupid-sounding things much more often than I mean to. And, I've noticed, somehow, the moments of feeling judged leave a deeper mark than the ordinary, nice moments. Feeling understood--that someone truly "gets me"--is so fleeting, and so hard to find. Whereas, feeling dumb seems to hide in wait for me around every corner. But books never make me feel stupid, or, that I need to expend a lot of energy fixing a mistake I made. I love the safe-ness of books. I like being able to relate to another person, be expanded by their outlook, enjoy their sense of humor--without all the mess of having to show up, and expose myself to judgment. (My therapist says I've got approval issues. :D)

If I could only be introduced--and introduce myself--to others through something akin to a novel's worth of description and explanation! Sort of like, meeting Seth and Abe through your guys' blogs. I could never not see them in a kind light, after glancing them through the eyes of those who love them most.

I love life, but, I almost feel like I love books more. My life engrosses me--but, it seems to revolve around the same unresolved issues, year after year (like the approval thing). Slowly spiraling towards resolution... but, taking its own sweet time. I'd never continue reading a book that was as repetitive as my actual life. And yet... well, somehow, I can't imagine ever wanting to put my own text down.

Lastly... irrelevantly... I love that, when creating a post, we can add whatever labels we like. One of the examples for possible labels, I saw, was "scooters." That's so perfect I think I'll have to use it.

To love! To life! To one arena where, hopefully, judgement doesn't lie in wait. To the end of judgement! To scooters!