Gosh that Sylvia Plath is a downer. The Bell Jar is fantastic -- wish I'd read it years ago -- but I'm afraid I identify with the main character a bit much. I really like her, I'm sure we could be friends, and now the poor chook is being sent for electroshock treatment.
I was feeling a bit Plath-like last night as I drove across the Bay Bridge towards the bookstore. Esther (the electroshock girl) has got to the point where she can't be bothered changing her clothes or washing because she knows she'll just have to do it again. And again. And again, until lights out. On a lesser level, I have got to the point where I just wear the same thing to work over and over again because there is absolutely no point in dressing well when you are going to be squatting at the base of bookshelves, dusting, lugging huge carts this way and that, and dealing with sticky children. I do wash my clothes, however.
I continue to be amazed at the success of The Secret, the book that purports to condense centuries of wisdom into one teeny little book that will change your life. It is flying out the door. They literally can't keep it on the shelves. Oprah plugged it on her show and the whole country has gone bonkers for it. It feels like a very American phenomenon to me. As far as I can tell, the secret is that you draw to yourself whatever it is you are sending out into the universe. So if you are sending out vibes of satisfaction and success, that is what you will reap. Clearly I am sending out great waves of mediocrity and ennui. And yet I can't seem to stop. What is a girl to do?
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
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