Just last night, I strolled around a bookstore for a few minutes, and remembered why I love bookstores and detest them at the same time. Maybe a timeline would explain it best:
6:00 PM: I enter the bookstore, inhale the rich scent of paper and coffee, and survey the landscape. All these books! I start with the magazines.
6:05 PM: I carefully walk past the men's magazines sporting models with unlikely cleavage, successfully make it to the design section, and pick up a computer design mag. I remember that I really need to learn more about CSS, so I put the mag down and head for the computer section.
6:07 PM: Thumbing through a CSS book, I see the word "language" and remember that I wanted to learn Mandarin. I put the book down and head to the languages section.
6:08 PM: I pass the writing section and feel disgusted with myself that I haven't published more.
6:08 PM: I pass the fitness section, glance at my gut, and remember that I need to take better care of myself.
6:09 PM: I pick up a book on Mandarin and remember why I despaired of learning it when I was in Beijing: it's impossible. I put the book down and head to the front of the store.
6:09 PM: I walk by books with titles like, "Make Your Fortune Now in Social Media" and "Your Destiny Starts Now" and want to shoot myself. The world feels hostile and futile and filled with elusive dreams.
6:10 PM: I walk out the front door. The air is cold and bright, and I try to remember to breathe.
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