I am in love. The merits of this new love have grown on me over the year since I acquired it. This thing has gone back and forth to work with me everyday. Its wonderful. Freedom. And I discovered recently that the sleeper cover actually bends in order to make it feel as though you’re holding some big tome in hand. The weight is enough that this illusion is possible, yet, not so heavy that it becomes too weighty. I do so love my ereader/tablet.

AND, I can read ANYTHING I want. It could be a delicious historical romance novel, with all the pornographic bits, and no one would know, cause you can’t see the cover. Although, normally that’s not what I’m reading. But I could be.

I was for a bit Mom, however, I’ve found that reading that sort of shite is counterproductive to erasing Mr.Blue.Eyes from my conscious mind.

Damn, why can’t I erase him?? Its been almost exactly 3 months since I saw him, and two since we texted, and yet still I think about him. Reading romance novels is clearly not helpful.

I should start a book review on novels that contain NO love scenes of any sort. That way those of us who are trying to avoid reminders of lost loves that rocked our socks, don’t get reminded of stuff we’d like to delete.

Really Mom, I had thought my feelings towards him were just a product of my lonely mind. That after he was gone, all the feelings would just dissipate back into the ether from whence they came, and I could just move on. Yeah right. He’s been on my mind of late more than ever, and lets just say my thoughts are not of our intellectual dialogues.

In every other department, Mr.Blue.Eyes was lacking, but in that one particular arena, he hit all the right spots. Yet, we all know this lass can not live on lovemaking alone, and as good as that is (for once), I’m rather cerebral. I know that I require a certain diversity of character. Perhaps its just the intrigue Mr.Blue.Eyes brought with him? That’s probably all it was.

Damn intrigue all to hell. That’s what it is you know. If I had ever been allowed to delve deeper, I suppose I would have come up short. Far easier I guess to re-imagine him as being stupendous, than to acknowledge the reality of his flaws.

So, my reading has become more of a distraction from a distraction. The key is to acquire reading material that stimulates the neurons inside my noggin that allow me the ability to rise above these petty thefts of the heart, and expand my knowledge, instead of my ego. So I’m thinking I may splurge and go on the hunt for some delectable historical dialogue of a different sort; one replete with all the mystery and intrigue of a detective novel, but the facts they’re unearthing are of an archaeological nature.

There is a niggling feeling though that maybe my problem is I’m too cerebral. Em. Hadn’t thought of that till just now. Well, I need a distraction of some order. So I guess that’s what I seek at the moment. A distraction from a distraction.

Wish me luck Mom,
Always,

Paula