Could it be, my life's love has filled the salt shaker with estrogen?
I'm a reader. Mostly non-fiction. During the past week, I can barely read a book start to finish without getting caught up in the sad parts.
Imagine you're writing a book. The publishers expect you to follow the standard arc. Intro, dull bits, conflict, cure.
I can't get through the drama. I'm reading a book because I care, or want to care about the subject. Get to the the trauma and I wanna fix it. Makes no difference if it happened long ago, to people long dead, or a buddy. I can make it better, if only....
I've got to snap out of this. A book a day has shown up this week, most of which I dare not crack, for fear of becoming forever tainted. TIVO is filled with half watched movies I can't man up to finish. This is awful.
It's cook books for me this week. Food porn. No drama, no fixin's.