I feel like I should blog...

But I don't know what to blog about.

This morning I sat next to a young lady who was reading book one of the Twilight series. She was on the last few pages, although the preceding pages seemed more than crisp. Hmmm... I wonder if she had just bought the book and flipped to the last pages for a preview.

So, of course I struck up a conversation being that we have similar taste in reading material. She was soft spoken, and I had no clue what she ways saying LOL!!! But I ended the conversation with "That's a very good book."
She said, "Have you read them all?"
"Yep," I nodded. "I can't wait for the fourth one, it's coming out next month."

Then my stop came and I told her goodbye.

The crazy thing is that I knew she was reading Twilight based on the size of the book, the font, the thickness of the pages, and the fact that she was so engrossed that she didn't realize her arm was touching me.

LOL!! Yes, I'm a brat. I have the audacity to ride public transportation and not want people to touch me, especially not men... grrr. I'm a little too aware of ulterior motives. I feel like, while riding public transportation, we should try our best to fit into the tiny space allotted to us. Isn't it enough that we're sharing the same air? I know, I know, I'm being a brat. Pray for me.

(Insert: While rereading the last paragraph, I noticed a tinge -- better yet a lot -- of bitterness in my tone. I'm not going to remove it because that's how I felt at the time, but I will apologize for being... spazzy? Is that a word? Anyway, my apologies. As you can see, my emotions are all over the charts, but that's no reason for my loyal two readers to feel bitterness radiate from the blog screen :o) I'm sorry and a lot on the imperfect side. Please forgive me.)

Anyway, I didn't mind her. She was such a sweetheart. I have a soft spot for genuinely nice people.

I silently wished that one day she would be reading one of my books, perhaps on the train. And maybe she would be so engrossed in the tale that she wouldn't notice that her arm grazed another stranger.

And how great would it be if that stranger glanced over and knew instantly from the curve of the letters, the thickness of the pages, and the lilt of each sentence that the book was written with love by Makeda.

I'm a sucka for love and happy endings. There goes that eternal optimism thing again. LOL!! :o)