The trouble with reading self-helpish books in public is that then everyone knows your problems. For example, I would really like to read my copy of What Should I Do with My Life? on the bus today. But you know…. I’m not sure if I can bring myself to do it. Everyone will know that I’m a confused little chickie. The book itself is bright red and yellow and has the title written in enormous block letters. It’s like a big, red zit advertising your angst.
I wonder if my crises are seasonal. Perhaps I have an annual spring freakout. Let’s see:
March ’01: Really, really out of it.
Feb. ’02: Painting houses in Portland?
Feb. ’03: Montessori school teacher! Librarian!
And actually, about one year ago I apparently wondered if my thoughts went in yearly cycles. Ha.