Yup, it's me.

It's been awhile. I'm afraid I occasionally struggle with depression and when I do, the last thing in the world I want is introspection of any variety. Mostly I want escapist fiction, sleep, the occasional glass of wine and affection -- though that can be hard to come by in my family. Silence, peace -- that too would be nice, but again, unlikely.

I'm apparently stuck at around 2700 on the amazon rankings, despite having plowed through approximately six novels this weekend. As always, I wonder how others are able to read less, review less and pile up more votes. Also, I'm curious about a guy who's an 'amazon neighbor' whom I've nicknamed "the eater." apparently the amazon vine people get free stuff and this guy mostly seems to get stuff to eat, which he then reviews. gourmet products, bizarre nutritional foodlike substances and the like. I think he's a bit of a foodie, also reading cookbooks and the like -- but I find myself wondering what the mailman thinks as he stuffs "the eater's" mailbox with these packages. I picture this guy as some kind of weird hermit, never going to the store, just scuttling down to his mailbox, grabbing things to eat and shuffling off to his little apartment. (In my amazon fantasies, none of us have lives beyond books. We're all kind of like nuns or hermits. Or maybe that's just my fantasy. Maybe just this week.)

Anyway, if you're looking for a book that will make you cry, I recommend taking a look at "I see you everywhere," by Julia Glass. Kind of a break from the relentlessly happy chick lit books about PTA moms. This one in contrast suggests that women are actually full-formed, fragile creatures. Not the best read in my present state of mind, but still . .