Master of the Universe

“All the best stories in the world are but one story in reality,
the story of escape. It is the only thing which
interests us all and at all times, how to escape.”
~ Arthur Christopher Benson (1862-1925) ~

Women do different things when they’re depressed. Some smoke, others drink, some call their therapists, some eat. My mother used to go ballistic when she and my father had a fight, then she’d booze for days on end and vanish into her bedroom. My sister was more into the global chill mode; give him the silent treatment and, in the meantime, gorge on frozen Sara Lee Banana cake. And I do what I have always done—go off on a book bender that can last for days.

I fall into this state for different reasons. Sometimes it’s after an “I hate your fucking guts fight.” Other times it’s symptomatic of my state of mind, ennui up to my ears, my life gone awry, and that feeling of dread whenever I’m asked what I am doing. How can anyone sort all this out?  All things considered, I’d rather read. It’s the perfect escape.

I have a whole mantra for my book binges. First of all, I open a bottle of good red wine. Then, I turn off my cell phone, turn on my answering machine, and gather all the books I’ve been meaning to read or reread and haven’t. Finally, I fill up the tub with thirty-dollar bubble bath, fold that little towel at the end of the tub so it just fits in the crick of my neck, and turn on my music. I have an old powder blue, plastic Deco radio near the tub that I bought at a garage sale in Hollywood a few years ago. The oddest thing; the radio only receives one AM radio station, which plays jazz standards from the forties and fifties, and it suits me just fine.