I am experiencing some writer's block. And it's not like I don't have material to write about. I mean, I just finished
Her Fearful Symmetry (I'm thinking about a double feature piece, including
Time Traveler's Wife, what do you think?), I'm almost done with
Traveling with Pomegranates AND just this past weekend I went to Strand Bookstore in Union Square for the first time! I should be pouring out my jumbled thoughts and adventures to all of you, but for the past couple of days, it's been hard to sift through them.

Maybe writer's block is the wrong word...I'm experiencing writer's overflow. My brain is too full. If you looked inside my head right now you would probably see something like that scene in
I Love Lucy
with the conveyor belt and chocolates. I feel like I have a lot to say, but my pesky inner critic has been coming out to play. She's like the mean girl at school who comes to knock your blocks over after you've just finished placing the top piece with a proud flourish. So while I wrestle with my inner bully, I'll share a priceless conversation I had with my parents about my love life:
Me: I'm going to die alone.
Mom: What are you talking about? You are going to find a nice, successful, handsome, wonderful.....(then she goes off on her own tangent while my dad talks over her)
Dad: When it's the right time, you'll find the right man.
Mom: .....sexy man who will make you as happy as Daddy makes me. Maybe you should call your friend,
S and go out to the discos with her? You have to put yourself out there!

Me: Ugh, I know all that, but... ***big sigh*** ....men are just big headaches.
Mom (nods in agreement): Yea, I know. But you'll find the right man to give you the right headaches.
Dad (appalled and defensive): What and you think women
aren't headaches? Sometimes you just have to .......... learn how to take Tylenol.