<thursday november 13, 2003 - 1:39 p.m.>

When I was at Chapters the other day (this was the same trip where I bought the Lemony Snicket and the outrageously priced toothpicks) I remembered a book that I had heard about a long time ago and have wanted to read ever since.

I couldn't remember the title of it, nor any other concrete details – only that it was a collection of personal essays about addiction, written by a various people struggling with various addictions. Yes, this is a bit of a heavy theme. It doesn't easily constitute leisurely reading, but I've always been interested in the human condition, and what it is exactly that makes people tick.

Personally, I don't know very much about addiction. My mom smokes, but I haven't been addicted to anything myself. Coffee doesn't count. :)

Anyway, because I couldn't remember what the title was I thought I'd browse the shelf at Chapters. This brought me into relatively unknown territory - the self-help section. My search was confined to a smaller area of a larger expanse called "Addictions and Abuse." It may have been subtitled "Grieving and General Societal Taboos" but I'm not sure.

The shelf space devoted to addictions proper is fairly small, and it backs on to a busy thoroughfare. I was a little self-conscious, and I was there for about 1.5 minutes when I was approached by a sales associate. She asked me if I needed help finding anything. I replied in the negatory.

A couple of minutes later I was asked again, but by a different person. Each time I answered in the friendliest and most chipper voice I could muster. I didn't want to appear as though I was an addict looking for help in a book.

The self-help aisle is a pretty personal space to be in. There is high potential for embarrassment. I think it's best if the sales people leave the customers alone here. (I wonder why I wasn't approached anywhere else in the store.)

What if you were buying:

• Spouses who fart and the women who love them
• Dear Abbey's advice for the slovenly procrastinator
• Sex for Dummies (Eek - I just looked it up, this one actually exists.)

The purchase of a self-help book can be an outsider's roadmap to your psyche.

It's like when you walk into the drugstore wearing a trenchcoat over rumpled clothing – and you're buying a bag of chips, an armful of chocolate, Skittles, bottled water, a fashion magazine and a club-size box of supersize tampons.

You might as well be wearing a sign around your neck -- Help me, I'm PMSing and my husband lets 'em rip under the covers.

a

<wednesday november 12, 2003 - 8:34 p.m.>

The last few days have been a flurry of work. My fingers are practically glued to the keyboard. I think the squeaking of the space bar is beginning to annoy Mark, but I enjoy being this busy. I am really enjoying what I'm doing now.

But that doesn't mean there isn't any time for other things. I can proff up two things that are radcially different and have absoloutely nothing to do with each other, just for the sake of it.... a letter and a snail.

p.s. Sorry Melissa, but I'm keeping the toothpicks under wraps. I'm sending them out to PostcardX people and cannot reveal them here! But if you're that keen I can send you a photo. :)

p.s.s. I got my first "PostcardX" - a lovely lovely note, bookplates and bits of pretty paper. I have forgotten how much I enjoyed getting something in the mail ... something that isn't a flyer or a bill!

a.